


Won't Get To Space Because I Haven't Got a Rocket

by sunsetmog



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Loneliness, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Never Been Kissed, Threesome, mechanic, tidied up chat fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:42:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Because the thing is: it's silly, being grown up, and chasing a childhood dream. Liam's almost eighteen, and he isn't bringing a wage home, and he isn't getting anywhere, and he's tired of building everyone's hopes up—including his own—when it's clearly never going to happen. He isn't worth it. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>AU in which Liam never goes back to re-audition for X Factor, but stays in Wolverhampton to become a mechanic instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Won't Get To Space Because I Haven't Got a Rocket

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harriet_vane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harriet_vane/gifts).



> So, the following conversation happened last week between **harriet_vane** and myself:
> 
> LOOK AT THIS:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME.
> 
> I AM A NICE PERSON.
>
>> I think that's probably the most feelings I've ever had about Liam Payne, and I have had feelings. Quite a lot of feelings, tbh.
> 
> If you had asked me if I had any interest in him in motorcycle boots and a filthy tank top I'd have said NO. And meant it.
> 
> And yet here we are.
>
>> And yet here we are. Of course I have conjured up a terribly lonely back story for him. 
> 
> TELL ME. YOU KNOW HOW I LOVE A TERRIBLY LONELY BACKSTORY.
> 
>  
> 
> And so: I did. And once I'd taken it out of email, and tidied it up a bit, and added a few extra bits, it had got long. I know nobody's surprised. 
> 
> Thanks to **bunnymcfoo** for reading this through for me. Any remaining errors are my own.

**(all the things that stop you dreaming)**

After Liam gets cut from the judges houses on the X Factor, he spends six months trying to make it as a singer. His dad drives him around, and he sings in shopping centres, and he tries to sing at things that are going on in the local area, but the truth is, nobody seems to pay him that much attention. 

_Come back_ , the judges had said. And that's what he'd wanted; that's what he's _always_ wanted. Except: he knows money is tight for his mum and dad, and what he's bringing in from singing isn't enough to cover the money they're spending just getting him to these places, and his parents never complain. They never complain, but Liam knows that things are getting harder. When it comes to the point where he can audition again, he spends two days looking at the application form, and then another day looking at it sitting in the waste paper basket in the corner of his bedroom. 

Because the thing is: it's silly, being grown up, and chasing a childhood dream. He's almost eighteen, and he isn't bringing a wage home, and he isn't getting anywhere, and he's tired of building everyone's hopes up—including his own—when it's clearly never going to happen. He isn't worth it. 

He has to grow up and stop wishing for stupid stuff, and get a job and live real life, and not in his head. 

He'll just watch X Factor on his TV instead, from the outside looking in. It won't be that bad. 

He's quite resolute about getting the job at his dad's factory, but it's awful. The same thing, over and over again, when he wasn't that good at it in the first place. The Saturday job he has at the garage down the road from his mum and dad's is more hopeful, and when he asks if there are any more hours going, Mick takes him on as a trainee. It means doing a college course on day release a couple of days a week so he can get his NVQ in automotive maintenance, but he never was that bright at school. But secretly, in his head he starts thinking about maybe one day having his own garage, and saving up for his own place, and maybe it won't matter if he's lonely all the time if he has his own business and his own house to go back to every night. He can get a semi or a terrace in Wolverhampton for under sixty grand, according to the internet, so all he needs to do is save up between six and ten grand, and he's covered for the deposit. 

It's not like he's got that much to spend his money on, anyway. There's only Andy, and Andy's a good mate and everything, but he doesn't make Liam feel any the less alone. There isn't anything or anyone who can make him feel like that. 

Liam hasn't always been as quiet as he is now. He works as hard as he can in the garage, and he keeps himself to himself, and he doesn't ever let himself think about how sad he is, and he definitely, _definitely_ doesn't sing anymore, because it's silly to think about childhood dreams now that he's an adult, with a wage to earn and a house to save for. He has a _life plan_. He's going to get his qualifications, and learn how to be a good mechanic, and how to enjoy his job, and maybe at some point in the future someone will go out with him. He's even added signing up to one of those dating websites to his to-do list, only he's not sure that he knows whether he wants a girl or a boy to go out with, but that's not really a problem when nobody ever says yes anyway. 

When Andy shows up at the garage one Wednesday night before closing, Liam can tell from the look on his face that there's going to be something awful on the horizon that Liam's going to have to pretend to enjoy. 

"It's a lads weekend, Liam," Andy says, as Liam tries to shut things down for the night, and ignore Mick's disapproving look as Andy sits on the bonnet of one of the cars that Liam's got to fix in the morning. "A _lads weekend_. Tell me that's not a fucking awesome idea. You, me, the lads, London town. Raising fucking hell, Payne-o. You in?"

It sounds awful. None of Andy's other friends actually like him, and at least two of them actively can't stand to be in Liam's presence. "Are Tez and Dale going to be there?"

"Obviously," Andy says, clapping him on the back. "It's the lads, innit? We're all off. Me, you, Tez, Dale, Simple-Simon, Dave, Dave B, Nabhead, and Jacksie. Nick's missis won't let him go, so I told him he was out if he couldn't tell her what for. One fucking weekend. He needs to start telling her what he's doing instead of asking. She's a right nightmare. I'm booking the hotel tonight, so I'll need the money tomorrow."

It's actually the worst thing Liam can imagine. "All right," he says, trying to sound enthusiastic. He's pretty sure that if Andy ever gets wind of how much Liam hates all of this stuff, then he'll stop being Liam's friend, and one friend who likes doing shit that Liam hates is better than no friends at all. 

"Excellent," Andy says. "I'm doing the plan too, one pint in every pub, then karaoke and clubbing with slebs. Nabhead's going to do us all copies on the office photocopier."

"Great, brilliant." Literally the worst weekend in the world ever. 

Andy slings an arm around Liam's shoulders. "You and me, we'll share a hotel room. Be like old times, just us lads. Brilliant, right?"

Liam fakes a smile. "Brilliant," he says. It might even be good, if Andy's mates weren't going to be there. But they are, so he's already resigned himself to the weekend being the worst thing ever. 

 

The weekend doesn't start well. Liam tries to be enthusiastic, because maybe Andy's friends will—at some point—start being his friends too. It's a possibility, at least. But on the train down to Euston, when they're all drinking beers and getting an early start on getting wasted, Liam's got a cup of tea from the trolley instead, and he explains it away by saying he's saving up for a house.

Not his finest moment, and it doesn't get better. The hotel's okay, but even though the room is just supposed to be him and Andy, the others all pile in before they head out, sprawling over the beds and spilling beer on the carpet and getting cheese and onion crisp crumbs on the sheets. After that it's pub after pub after pub. Liam doesn't finish his drinks in at least three of them, even though the others make fun of him, but it does mean that by the time they get to the karaoke bar, the others are too drunk to get up and sing. They're too drunk to do anything but sprawl on the seats in their booth, and ring the call button and get the waitresses to bring them food and more beer. 

Liam sits down with them for a bit, but they're in a karaoke booth all of their own, and they've _paid_ for this. They've booked it from 11pm to 2am, and it's a Saturday night so it wasn't cheap, even shared out between all of them. Liam wants his money's worth, even if the others don't. 

So, he takes one of the microphones, and one of the song books, and cues up _I get a kick out of you_. 

Fuck it, he thinks, and starts to sing. 

When he looks back at Andy's friends, half of them are passed out, and the other half are drunkenly chatting up the waitresses, and refusing to keep the door shut into the corridor. Simple-Simon and Nabhead are yelling into the corridor, and demanding more booze. Luckily, what they're not doing is singing, which leaves their karaoke screen free for Liam. 

He doesn't normally allow himself to sing any more, but he's drunk—even though he's nowhere near as drunk as the rest of them—and he just can't say no. He wants it so badly. He misses it so badly. So he kind of just picks some songs to sing, and he sings them, one after the other, Bon Jovi and Blink-182 and Frank Sinatra again and The Kinks and Johnny Cash. 

He doesn't notice that there are people gathering outside the booth, in the corridor outside the open door, and he doesn't realise there's kind of a crowd until they all start clapping when he finishes singing Frank Sinatra. 

And right at the front of the crowd, clapping and whooping the loudest, are two faces that Liam recognises. They're Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles, who'd placed at number nine and number three in the last series of X Factor. Liam had secretly watched ever single minute of the last series, because he's nothing if not a masochist, so he knows exactly who Louis and Harry are. The guys at work usually have a paper or two lying around too, so Liam knows that they're both in and out of the papers, faffing about on the peripheries of people's awareness, showing up in the 3am Girls, talking about working on some new music together, apparently not dating but doing a very good job of looking like they are. Liam's seen them in pictures at clubs and in bars and with girls and in parks and he knows that they're supposed to be collaborating with a couple of the other X Factor losers—Zayn Malik and Niall Horan, at last count—but Liam doesn't want to let on that he knows who they are. 

"You're brilliant," Louis Tomlinson tells him, once the last strains of Frank Sinatra have died away. "How do you fancy a sing-off with me and my friend, here?"

Liam looks round at the lads he's with. Andy had disappeared twenty minutes ago with one of the waitresses, supposedly to have a look at the menu, but he hadn't come back. The rest of Andy's mates are all dicks, and half of them have passed out anyway, and none of them are paying any attention to Liam, so it's pretty reasonable for him to step over Dale, who's passed out on the floor, and to follow Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles down the corridor to the next booth along, and inside. 

His heart's pounding. They're _famous_. 

"What's a sing off?" Liam asks, as they close the door.

"That's easy," Louis tells him. "We all sing and then there's a winner."

Harry rolls his eyes. "There's no winner," he says, and his voice is just as slow and gravelly as it is on the telly. "We just wanted to sing with you. You sounded great. We heard you, and we were like, he's brilliant."

"Then we thought of the sing off," Louis cuts in. 

Liam literally has no idea what's going on, but he nods anyway. He grins all the way through Harry ordering them a jug of cocktails and some Cokes in case Liam isn't drinking, and one of those giant appetizer platters that Liam had liked the look of on the menu, but nobody else had wanted to share. It's quite possible that Liam is dreaming this whole thing anyway, because somehow he's singing Bananarama's Venus, and he's singing it with Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles, and it's the middle of the fucking night, and everything feels completely upside down and inside out. 

It's weird. It's also _great_. More than that, it's the most fun thing that Liam can remember doing. He's _singing_ , and he never sings. He never lets himself. He doesn't even sing in the shower. Singing has always been his number one most favourite thing to do in the whole wide world, and if he lets himself think about the fact he doesn't do it anymore, then he gets upset. But he can't get upset tonight, because he's had a drink, and the appetizer platter is excellent, and whilst he hadn't been sure whether the rumours about Louis and Harry going out were true or not, he can see that it _could_ be true. They wrestle over the songbook, and spend most of their time sitting on each other rather than next to each other, and even though there's a spare microphone, they share one when Liam steals the songbook and cues up Party in the USA. 

"I'm Liam," he says finally, after they've done five songs and decimated the appetizer platter.

"Louis," Louis says, "and he's Harry."

"I know," Liam says, going a bit red. "I saw you on the telly."

"Excellent," Louis says. "That saves us doing the boring introductions. Do you want more food? And the important question: how do you feel about Robbie Williams?"

Which is how they end up singing Angels, and then moving onto Take That's Never Forget. There's more food, and another drink—Liam tries this non-alcoholic cocktail that is about the size of his head, and tastes like heaven—and more singing, and then there's a long, very loud, harmonised version of Bohemian Rhapsody. 

Liam looks at his watch then. It's two-thirty, and the booking Andy and his friends have for the karaoke booth next door has already finished. When he goes to check, there's another group of people in there and his friends have gone. Nobody's sent him a text, or come looking for him, and he's pretty sure that Andy has the hotel room key, so yeah, that's a thing. 

He looks down at his feet. 

"Have your friends actually gone?" Louis asks, in disbelief. 

"They were really drunk," Liam says, trying to cover up his hurt. "They probably couldn't remember their own names, let alone remember to count us all up."

It still hurts. 

"Well, we'll drop you off at your hotel, then," Louis says. Harry's chin is resting on Louis' shoulder, and he has an arm around his waist. They look like a couple, if it wasn't for the way they were both eyeing up the waitress at the end of the corridor. Or possibly the waiter. "Where is it?"

There's a bit of a problem there, because it turns out Liam doesn't remember where the hotel is, or what it's called. He should have written it down, he knows that now, but when they were leaving he hadn't considered the possibility that they'd lose him. 

"It's in Covent Garden," he says awkwardly. "I think." He shrugs, embarrassed. "It might have been a Travelodge."

"Doesn't matter," Harry says. "We'll go and find a taxi, then go on a hotel search."

Liam knows he's gone all red. He's so embarrassed. He doesn't know where his hotel is, and taxis are expensive, and his friends have forgotten him. It feels like the whole night is ruined, and it was going so well at the end there. "You can't do that," he says. 

"We can do that, and we will, so." Harry says, hooking his hand into the curve of Liam's elbow. Louis takes his other arm, and they virtually frogmarch him down the stairs and out into the street to find a cab that takes them to Covent Garden. 

They drive around for a bit before finding a Travelodge down a side street.

"Is this it?" Louis asks doubtfully. 

Liam hasn't seen it from this angle before. "I think so? Maybe?" He can just get out and wander round if it isn't, anyway. Find the right one. Famous people don't have to wait for him to find his friends.

"We'll come in with you," Harry says. "Just to make sure."

"You don't have to."

"I know, but what kind of crap new friends would we be if we just left you by yourself in the middle of the night, without even checking if you've got somewhere to actually sleep?" Louis says.

It's nice of them—too nice—but it doesn't stop Liam from being embarrassed. _New friends_. What. They've put their numbers in his phone. 

It is the right hotel, thankfully, but the guy on the desk refuses to issue him with another key card without at least the reference number for the booking. Andy isn't answering his phone, and neither are the others, and this whole time Louis and Harry are standing off to the side, watching as Liam loses whatever cool cred he had had, as it gets progressively less likely that Liam's going to be able to get into his hotel room. 

_For fuck's sake, Andy. Answer your phone._ He smiles awkwardly at the receptionist, but Andy doesn't pick up.

In the end, Louis steps in, and suggests that someone could take them upstairs—without issuing the new key card—and Liam could just knock on the door until someone lets him in. 

It's a good idea, and clearly the receptionist is as pissed off at the hassle in the middle of the night as all of them are, because he gets someone to take them over the desk so he can take them all up in the lift. 

Liam knocks at the door, but no one answers. "Andy," he says, quietly. "Andy." There's snoring coming from inside, and Harry suggests that the receptionist just relent and let them in. He's clearly due for a break, because he gives in straight away, swiping his key card into the lock. He doesn't hang around after that, not caring to discover what the inhabitants of the room would say if it wasn't the truth Liam had been telling for the last twenty minutes. Liam steps over a pile of clothes in the entrance to the room, Louis and Harry following him in. 

The room smells like puke, there are four guys passed out on the two beds, and the light's on in the bathroom. Someone has used all of Liam's shaving foam to write _knob_ on the mirror and all over Andy's toilet bag, but they've used pen to write it on Liam's. 

He looks down at his toilet bag and thinks about crying, just a bit. 

"Where are you supposed to sleep?" Harry asks, from the doorway. 

"Dunno," Liam says. "One of the beds was supposed to be mine, but, um. Maybe the floor?"

"Why don't you come back to ours?" Louis says. "At least you can have the sofa there. And it won't smell of puke."

Someone has missed the toilet and puked on the floor. Liam really hates Andy's friends. 

"All right," he says finally, in a small voice. This is what his life is, he thinks, and he hates it. 

He takes his toilet bag, and his sports bag from where he'd left it by the TV before they'd left earlier, and then he follows Harry and Louis out into the hall, and tries not to see them exchanging glances. 

"Come on," Harry says, as they get back in the lift to go downstairs. "Our flat's well better than a hotel."

"Suppose," Liam says, but that isn't very polite, and Liam is always polite, even when he's humiliated. "Thank you for offering. You didn't have to. I'm really grateful."

Louis tucks his hand into the curve of Liam's elbow. "You're doing us a favour. If we're going to succeed in making you be our friend, the least you could do is provide us with a few more hours of your time for us to monopolise."

Liam doesn't know whether Louis' joking or not, and frankly, he's too off-kilter and confused to question it. He follows them back into the cab—and Liam can't look at the ever growing fare from them having the taxi wait outside for them, god, is that the actual cost, and not the twenty four clock or something? He's fixed cars that are worth less than this cab fare. 

"How far's your flat?" he asks, just in case they could fly to the moon for cheaper. 

"It's in Primrose Hill," Harry tells him. 

"It's so not. It's Chalk Farm," Louis rolls his eyes and pats Harry's thigh. "Harry just wishes it was Primrose Hill."

"I have literally no idea where that is, if that helps." Liam really is a country bumpkin. If he had to list areas of London, he's pretty sure he could list Covent Garden, the bit where the houses of parliament are, Chelsea, West Ham, Trafalgar Square, and Notting Hill. Anything else is totally beyond him, and he's not even that sure if West Ham is an actual place and not just a football team.

"It doesn't actually matter at all. It's not that far, especially not at this time."

The roads are really empty, and the taxi eats up the distance like it's nothing. Liam looks out of the windows, at the tiny 24 hour shops with their fruit and veg stalls still out in front, even though it's the middle of the night, at the shuttered shops and the flats with the lights still on. It's a million miles away from where he lives in Wolverhampton. He doesn't think you could get a watermelon that large in the middle of Saturday night in Wolverhampton. 

Louis and Harry won't let Liam contribute to the taxi fare. 

"You're our guest," Harry says, waving Liam's wallet away. 

"But—"

"Harry's right," Louis says, pulling a key out of his back pocket, and letting them into the flat. "You don't have to pay to get a taxi to our flat, that's silly. Come in."

The flat is a hundred times nicer than Liam's. It's got radiators, for a start, and not really shit storage heaters. Not that it matters now, because it's summer, but Liam notices that kind of thing. There's laminate flooring, and IKEA furniture, and actual rugs. Liam's got no idea if they'd furnished it themselves, or if it just came like this, but it's nice. It's really nice. There's a hallway with cupboards, and a bathroom with a massive shower and not just a shower attachment, and a big kitchen, and a hall which Liam assumes leads to bedrooms. Bedrooms, plural? He doesn't know if Harry and Louis share. There's even a dining room, although that's mostly a big table that's got a load of shit all over it, and a couple of laptops and a lot of paper. The living room, though. There's a big sofa, and matching arm chairs, and a massive furry rug. There's a huge flat screen TV on the wall, and DVDs stacked up against the wall, and lots of pictures of people that are probably Louis and Harry's family and friends. It's just—it's so nice. 

It's so far outside what Liam could ever, ever hope to achieve in his life. 

He bites his lip and doesn't let on that he feels like he's drifting out to sea without a lifebelt, and offers a hand to Louis, who's pulling out the sofa bed whilst Harry finds sheets. 

The bed is about a third bigger than the one Liam has at home. He sits down on the edge of it whilst Louis goes to help Harry locate sheets, and he thinks about crying because he's so lonely and he hasn't got any friends, and the best night he's had ever is with two strangers who've just offered him their sofa bed. 

"Hey," Louis says, coming back in with an armful of sheets and a duvet. "Are you upset?"

"No," Liam lies, since boys don't cry. He stands up. "Do you want a hand with the sheet?"

"I can't get a duvet on when I'm sober." Louis hands over the duvet cover. "Drunk, I'm fucked. Do you want bacon? Harry's just said he's going to make bacon sandwiches."

"Is there enough?"

"Probably," Louis says, unconcernedly. He yells down the hall, "Liam's in for bacon."

"I was already making him some," Harry calls back, and Liam thinks about the neighbours. 

Harry comes in with his laptop, pushing it towards Louis. "Find some music," he says, before disappearing back into the kitchen. 

Which is how they end up stuck in laptop vortex, playing songs on Harry's iTunes and then ending up watching the videos on YouTube, eating crisps and laughing at Louis doing impressions, until the sun starts to come up and creep its way across Harry and Louis' living room floor. When it gets to six am, Harry gets up to make them all tea, and when he comes back in he's lost his jeans. That's invitation enough for Louis to lose them too, and Liam shrugs his off, crawling back onto the bed to drink his tea. 

It's the best and worst night of Liam's life, all at once.

He can't stop thinking, _how can I go back to my flat after this?_ Because how can he go back home and go back to work and pretend everything's okay, when he's just had a taste of what other people have all the time? Of _friends_. It makes his chest ache. 

When he looks over, Harry's fallen asleep next to him, arms wrapped around a cushion, forehead pressed to Liam's arm. 

Liam doesn't know what to do. He bites his lip. "Should I wake him up? Does he want to sleep in his own bed?" 

Louis shuts the lid of the laptop. "Don't worry about Harry, he sleeps anywhere. Here's as good a place as any."

"But, like—don't you want him to be in, I don't know, your bed?" Liam asks, before he's even thought about it. There's still booze in his system, he's blaming that. 

"Um," Louis blushes. "We don't, um—look, the papers haven't got it quite right. We have separate rooms. I mean, mostly."

"But you're—" Liam points between the two of them, trying to communicate _boyfriends_. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—I bet you get that all the time, I bet you're really bored of it now. You probably get it all the time from people who just believe what they see in the papers. Sorry."

"No, it's—um. It's a bit complicated. They're not totally wrong, but like—I love him? And he loves me? But it's complicated. We're not together."

Liam doesn't understand complicated. He hasn't actually had his first kiss yet, not that he's ever telling anyone that. He had to make up a first time for Andy ages ago, just so he'd leave him alone. But he's un-kissed, really. Complicated is a level he's never going to get to. 

Louis pulls the covers up over Harry, who snuffles a bit in his sleep. He starts to take his socks off, like he's planning on sleeping here too.

Liam's disconcerted. "Do you want me to sleep somewhere else?" he asks, because he's never really stayed over anywhere that isn't Andy's, and he's never really shared a bed with anyone before. They don't even know him. 

"No," Louis says, climbing under the covers next to Liam. He arranges the duvet over the top of both of them. "Stop worrying. Just stay here." He tugs at Liam's elbow, pulling him down onto the pillows between him and Harry. "Go to sleep, Liam."

Liam swallows, shuffling down under the covers. "All right," he says softly, awkwardly. He closes his eyes.

He doesn't think he'll sleep, but when he opens his eyes again, the sun's shining right through the window and it's almost lunchtime. Louis is one side of him, Harry the other, and they're holding hands over the top of Liam, which is seriously, ridiculously weird. There is nothing in Liam's vocabulary of relationships to explain this. 

Liam looks up at the ceiling for a moment, trying to process what happened last night, the series of events that all merged together to get him to this point, and this place, in bed with Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles. 

He sits up in bed, and says, "Oh shit, my train."

"Fuck," Louis says, sitting up. Harry pulls the pillow over his head, and makes a _nrghhhhhhhhh_ kind of a noise. "God, have you missed it?"

"Not yet," Liam says, trying to climb over Louis and find his jeans. "How long's it take to get to Euston from here?"

"Not long," Louis stumbles out of bed after him. "I'll make us some coffee."

"Do you want a shower?" Harry asks, from underneath the cushion. "Give me five seconds and I'll get you a towel."

Liam glances at his watch. He has five seconds. Ish. "All right."

Five seconds later, Harry emerges from under his pillow. "Right," he says, sitting up and squaring his shoulders. "Morning, by the way."

"Morning," Liam says, trying not to have any kind of palpitations over sharing a bed with Harry Styles. It's a close run thing. 

 

He doesn't miss his train, but it's a mad scramble to grab his stuff, and shower away the night before, and find his clothes, and still have time to drink his coffee as Louis and Harry scrambled for their clothes. 

"You don't have to take me," he protests, eating a piece of toast as they bundle him into the car. 

"We do," Louis says, "because you're our guest, and we're not dickheads."

Liam is still eating his toast and drinking his coffee as they pull away from the kerb, so he can't complain too much. 

It's only when they get to Euston, and Harry pulls in as close as he can get to the station, when Liam realises he doesn't have his ticket. 

"I don't have my ticket," Liam says, his stomach dropping. "Andy's got it."

"Well, check your phone, he's probably texted," Louis says, climbing out of the car with him. "He'll want to make sure you're getting on the train."

Harry jumps out of the car, leaving the engine running, and tugs Liam into a hug. "You've got our numbers, right?"

Liam nods, but he's too busy trying to see if Andy's texted him. He hasn't. 

"Thanks for putting me up, you didn't have to," he says, hugging Harry back.

"Course we did," Harry says, going back round the car to get back in. "You're brilliant. We're keeping you."

Liam turns to say _bye_ to Louis, but Louis isn't getting back in the car. He's urging Liam into the station with a hand to the small of his back. 

"Let's go find your friends."

The urge to say, _they're not my friends_ is pretty high, but Liam doesn't like to admit he's virtually friendless, so he doesn't bother. It's not his first priority, anyway. His first priority is finding Andy, and his fucking train ticket. 

"Aren't you getting in the car?"

"After I've got you on the train," Louis says grimly. "Any idea where they might be?"

"The pub, maybe," Liam says. He's trying to call Andy, but he's not picking up. 

"Well, let's go find somewhere that serves alcohol, then," Louis goes up on his tip toes to try and see a bar. "Let's try that one first."

It's a good bet; it's the bar closest to the entrance, and yes, there are Andy's friends, clustered round a table at the entrance, standing round their stuff and all clutching pints. 

"Hi," Liam says, going over. 

"Liam!" Andy says. He smells like beer. He throws an arm around Liam's shoulders. "Where have you been?"

Liam shrugs a little awkwardly.

"Why didn't you text him to check he was all right when he wasn't in the hotel room this morning?" Louis says. "You just left him at the karaoke place last night, you didn't even call."

Liam is horrified. You don't bring things like that up. You don't highlight the fact that Liam's forgettable, it's like that secret that everyone knows but no one talks about. 

"Liam can look after himself, can't you?" Andy claps him on the back. "Did you get yourself a girl last night?"

"Or a guy," Dave says, eyeing up Louis. There's a reason Liam's never shared his feelings about boys with the group, and a lot of them have to do with how Dave's looking at Louis right now, not that Louis seems to give a shit. "You got something you want to tell us, Liam?"

Liam goes even more red. He looks at the floor. "You had the room key," he says, without looking up. 

"Well, you ended up all right, didn't you?" Andy rubs his shoulder. "All's well that's ends well."

"Aren't you going to ask him where he stayed?" 

"It's fine," Liam says, his knuckles going white around the handles of his bag. 

"Do I even know you?" Andy asks Louis, tugging Liam into his side. "It feels like I know you."

"You might do," Louis says. He's looking at Andy like he's an idiot. Liam doesn't much like that. Andy's his best friend. 

"No, seriously," Andy says. "Do I know you? You weren't at school with us, were you?"

"No," Louis says. "Isn't the train about to go?"

Everyone scrambles for their stuff. Liam looks at the floor again, embarrassed. Louis tugs on his sleeve. "You've got our numbers, right?"

"Yep," Liam says, even though it's weird that two famous people wanted to give him their number. They'd taken his, too. He didn't think they'd ever use it. Why would they? He doesn't know why he wants to cry. It was just—it had all been so nice, humiliation aside. 

"The train," Andy says. "Come on."

Liam looks back over his shoulder as they go to the ticket barrier. Louis' standing by the pub, hands in his pockets. When he sees Liam looking, he holds his hand up in the air, a wave. Harry's suddenly there too, jogging over the concourse to stand next to Louis. He must have found a place he could park.

Liam manages a smile, and follows the lads onto the train. 

He doesn't like endings. 

 

When he gets back to his flat that night, he doesn't cry, because boys don't cry. He sits on the sofa instead, and puts the TV on, and thinks about getting up for work in the morning, and again the morning after that, and the morning after that and after that and after that. 

He doesn't cry, but he doesn't pay any attention to what's on the TV either. 

Just when he's getting ready for bed, and microwaving himself some warm milk, his phone buzzes with a text.

_Hope you got home ok! Last night was great, we'll have to do it again sometime. H + L_

Liam looks down at his phone for a bit, and yes, he's still confused by Harry and Louis and whether they're seeing each other or not, but they'd already said goodbye at the train station earlier. He'd been polite, and they'd been friendly, and there was no real reason why they needed to be even more polite and text him now. He sends a text back that just says, _i had a brilllllllliant time thanks for letting me stay your both lifesavers. yor sofa was probably much better than the hotel bedddd!!!!!_

No text comes back after that, and Liam's heart drops a bit, because even though he's not supposed to let himself hope for these things, he'd hoped anyway. He climbs into bed and pulls the covers up and goes to sleep. 

In the morning, when he wakes up, there are three messages on his phone. 

_bet it was quieter in our flat too, your friends snored for England_  
and  
 _are you coming back to London any time soon because we need to have another sing off_  
and  
 _is it your tshirt with the penguin on the front because Louis swears it isn't his and it's not mine, but i don't remember you wearing it either_

Liam can't decide between texting back, _they're not my friends_ and _oh god i'd come to London today if you really meant that_ and _do you bring a lot of strange boys back to your flat if you're finding strange clothes lying around?_

He settles for, _not my tshirttttt. sounds good tho penguins rule. that sing off was brillianttttt thanks for haivng me._

A message comes straight back, _so when are you coming back to London for round 2?_

Liam texts back, _when do u want meeeeeee_ before he can talk himself out of it, and then he drops his phone down onto his pillow and goes to drown himself in the shower before he goes to work. 

By the time lunchtime rolls around, Liam's convinced himself that that's the last he's going to hear from Louis and Harry. It was good whilst it lasted, he thinks. It already felt kind of dreamlike and like it had happened to someone else. Had he really stayed up until dawn with Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson, messing around with Harry's iTunes collection and watching Robyn videos on YouTube? Had that been him? Had he sung a three part harmony to Bohemian Rhapsody at two in the morning in a karaoke booth? It all seems a million miles away from helping Gary with the MOT brake testing he's doing at lunchtime, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. The only people to text Liam are his family and Andy, and Andy isn't supposed to have his phone out when he's working, so it isn't him. 

It's Louis this time, saying, _what's your email address?_

He waits until his lunch break and then types it laboriously, careful not to let there be any errors, but when Louis replies and tells him to check it, Liam can't. He doesn't have the internet on his phone. Louis replies _tskkkkkkkkkkkkkk_ and then thirty seconds later, Liam's phone rings. 

"Why can't you check your email?" Louis asks, without preamble. 

"I don't have it on my phone," Liam says. "I can check when I get home, though."

"Huh. I thought everyone's phone came with internet."

"Not mine," Liam says, as lightly as he can. He hasn't replaced his phone in a long time. What's the point, really? He moves Mick's paper from the corner of the sink where it's in the way of Liam making a cup of tea. The 3am girls have pictures of Harry and Louis having a beer outside a pub in the sunshine. It looks like they're outside Euston. Maybe that was taken after they'd dropped Liam off. It's all too bewilderingly weird for him, that for the briefest of interludes he was a part of their life. 

He wipes his oily hands on his shirt. "What did you send me, anyway?"

"A party invite," Louis says. "Me and Haz are having a party this weekend, and you should come down."

Liam can't really afford the train ticket and a hotel without breaking into his house fund, and that house fund is the only thing in his life he's proud of. "A party?"

"Yep, round at ours. We want you to come."

"Um," Liam says. His heart's pounding. He's being invited to a _party_. An actual party. "Okay? Um. You should tell me the name of a hotel that's near so I can stay there."

"Bollocks to that," Louis says. "Stay with us. So long as you don't mind staying up until the party's over. And if you do, you can just sleep in one of our beds."

"I can't put you out."

"You're not putting us out, we want you to come. Honestly. Liam, come to our party. It'll be rubbish without you."

It'll be rubbish _with_ him, that's how these things usually go down. He doesn't want to saythat most people don't like him and nobody ever wants him at a party, but it's kind of the truth. "All right?" he says softly, after a minute. His chest feels tight. "That'd be, um. I'd like that."

"Good," Louis says. "Hang on, Harry wants a word."

Harry takes the phone. "Hi," he says. "Are you coming?"

Liam bites his lip. "Yeah, think so. What would you like me to bring?"

"No idea. What do people normally bring to parties? Yourself?"

Liam has literally no idea. He can't exactly say that this is his first. Andy's don't count, he's pretty sure. 

"Should I bring food? I don't know." Liam's idea of party food is a prawn ring from Iceland. He's not sure that's going to go down well at a party Harry Styles is throwing. 

"Nah," Harry says. "Come down first thing on Saturday though, you can give us a hand with the shopping."

"But—" How can Liam say, _you've met me once? what are you doing inviting me stay in your house?_ "You don't know me all that well."

"Are you going to nick all of our stuff?"

"No." Liam's got oil all the way down his vest. That's not going to come out. "But I'd say that even if I was a burglar, wouldn't I?"

Harry just laughs at that. "We like you, all right? We think you're brilliant. So stop worrying and come to our party."

Nobody thinks Liam's brilliant, apart from his mum and dad. He's pretty sure that when he gets to Harry and Louis' on Saturday, they're just going to open the door and laugh in his face, and tell him he was an idiot for believing them. He's too scared to say no, though. He wants it too much. 

"All right," he says, and he can't ignore the flash of excitement that's building in his stomach. "Yes."

"Brilliant," Harry says. "Our party just got a million times better."

Liam can't help but laugh at that. Oh god. 

 

On Saturday, Liam gets a train to London first thing in the morning. He has his sports bag, a _thank you for having me_ card, a bottle of wine, and a mix cd he's made for Louis and Harry to say a proper thanks for last week. It's probably stupid, but his mum said he had to take something, and she was worried enough that he was going to London to see people he barely knew. Although 'barely knew' was a bit inaccurate now, because apparently Louis and Harry have nothing better to do with their lives but text him at all hours of the day and night about random crap. They'd left him voicemails of them singing One Way Or Another. He doesn't really know why they're being so nice to him. He spent one night with them. It's all mental.

He's not that far from Euston when he realises he has no idea how he's getting from the train station to theirs. _how am i gettin 2 hyourssssss?_ he texts, because he's going to be stranded at Euston at this rate. 

_we are coming to meet you stupid_ , Louis texts back. _but were gonna be late so go to pret and we'll meet you there_

He's going to be stood up at Euston. Or maybe he isn't. Should he have brought more than a mix cd and some wine? God, all of this was so difficult. He's just rubbish at all of this. Rubbish, and terrified. What if it all went wrong? What if they just _thought_ he was cool, and when they realised he didn't drink all that often, and not much at that, and he'd never been kissed, and nobody liked him, would they just bundle him back towards the train station and forget he existed? He'd made sure to transfer enough money to his current account from his savings account to cover a last minute hotel night and he'd got an open return for the train. And he's got a book he can read and a magazine and it will all be fine. Everything will go back to normal and it will all be fine. 

He's been alone before. 

In the end he sits in Pret a Manger with a tuna baguette and a cup of tea and tries not to worry about being stood up. 

Harry comes to find him in the end, just when Liam's stopped feeling hopeful and started feeling despondent instead. 

"Sorry, sorry," Harry says, nudging someone's suitcase out of the way and almost falling over a chair. He tugs Liam up and into a hug. "We got lost. We're crap, we're sorry. Are you ready? Louis' on a double yellow and if we get a ticket we're going to have to fight over which one of us pays it. He blames me because I can't find the sat nav, and I'm blaming him because he's driving."

"I'm ready," Liam says, because people around them are recognising Harry, and he's never been in a situation like this before. He shoulders his bag, but Harry makes a grab for the carrier bag on the table.

"Least I can do," Harry says, and then when they're outside, he bumps elbows with Liam's. "Thanks for coming down, it's going to be totally sick tonight. You'll love it."

Liam has his own private doubts about that, but still. He's here, and Harry's smiling at him. "Where are we parked?"

"Over here," Harry says, almost falling over a picnic table. "Come on."

Liam follows him in the direction of the road, awkward and sort of happy, all at the same time. 

"Oh my god," Louis says, when Harry tugs open the door and bundles Liam inside, and all of his bags. "Traffic wardens are fucking terrifying. I've already gone round the block twice. They're giving me the evil eye."

"Sorry," Liam says. 

"Don't be silly, it's not your fault. This place has to have a car park somewhere. We just don't know _where_ , because we're fucking idiots. I'm glad you're here, Harry has about zero idea how to throw a party. Actually, neither of us do, but apparently people want to come to our place and get wasted, and we have to make that happen. All Harry's done is buy a karaoke thing for the telly."

"A karaoke thing?"

"Oh my god, you're as bad as he is. You're obsessed with singing."

"Like you're not," Harry says, hitting him in the arm. He turns around in his seat to talk to Liam in the back. "Do you want to go to the shops now, or have lunch first? Because I could hold off eating for a bit, and we may as well just go to the shops."

Liam isn't used to being asked his opinion, and he isn't used to _this_. He has just had that tuna sandwich though, so he doesn't mind going straight to the shops. 

"Brilliant," Harry says. "Now all Louis has to do is get us there."

"Oi," Louis says, pulling out into traffic. "I'm a fucking magnificent driver."

"With no sense of direction."

"That's a lie," Louis maintains, crossing two lines of traffic to make the left hand filter at the traffic lights. Liam decides that not looking at what either Louis or Harry's doing on the road is probably for the best. 

Except: he's here, with Louis and Harry, and they're happy to see him, and he's even happier to see _them_ , and it's starting to feel like _friends_. 

 

Shopping with Louis and Harry is actually bananas. They get a trolley, and Louis nearly kills at least four adults and six teenagers, and they have to stop by the ice cream aisles to have their photos taken with random people who've recognised them, and they just keep throwing crisps and booze and coke into the trolley. Liam—caught up in a whirlwind of it all—starts trying to be the voice of reason by providing _actual food_. He bungs sausage rolls and little cocktail sausages and some French sticks and butter into the trolley. By the time he's guided them towards the entertaining aisle in the vain hope of finding a prawn ring, he's forgotten that they hadn't actually asked him to shop for them. 

Harry looks in the trolley. "Liam, have you been putting actual food in here?"

Liam goes bright red. "Um, should I not have been? I'm sorry, we can take it out—"

Louis rolls his eyes. "No, you're brilliant. Stop pretending you're not. If it wasn't for you, everyone would be starving tonight. Let's keep you for every single party we ever throw in the future, ever."

"You barely know me," Liam manages, still red-faced.

"We knew you were fantastic from the moment we heard you singing Frank Sinatra," Louis says. "I don't know why you keep acting surprised when we try and tell you you're brilliant, you know."

"Um," Liam says. "People don't normally say that."

"People are dickheads, then," Louis says, and when they put it through the till, Harry puts it all on his card and won't let Liam give him any money at all.

In the car, Liam fumbles with his bag to find the CD he made them. He feels stupid now, and like he should have got them a proper present, and not just a crap mix CD. "I made you something," he says, handing over the CD case to Harry in the passenger seat. "To say thanks for having me."

He's not sure, but he thinks they exchange glances at that. He ducks his head. 

"You made us a CD?" Harry asks, staring down at the case. 

"Wow," Louis says. "Put it on right now, I want to listen."

"It's probably silly," Liam says as Harry opens the case and passes it to Louis to put in the CD player. "You don't have to."

Harry turns around in his seat. "We're keeping you," he says. "Nobody else makes us mix CDs."

There's probably a reason for that, Liam thinks. The CD starts with Kids In America, which they'd listened to last weekend, and Louis starts to dance in his seat, only narrowly managing to stop for a red light. Harry starts to sing along, grinning over his shoulder at Liam, and after that, Liam can't help but start to sing too. It's infectious, and Louis turns the stereo up until it's too loud to hear each other over, and Liam almost doesn't recognise the feeling in his chest: he's happy. For this one moment, with just the two of them, he's happy. 

It doesn't stay just the two of them, of course. Zayn Malik and Niall Horan turn up half way through the afternoon, and Liam remembers them both from the X Factor top 10 with Louis and Harry. They're really nice, and Niall gets chatting to him as they set up the table in the living room with food for later, the prawn ring taking centre stage. Niall tells Liam all about his mates, and how he's been mostly messing around with his guitar and trying to find some songs that he wants to record, but they're all stuck under contract with the X Factor not to release any stuff for months after the X Factor final, so that the winners can make the most of their win. It's crap, but it's giving them a chance to find their feet. 

Nobody remembers Liam from the judges' houses two X Factor cycles ago, which Liam can't decide is a terrible thing or a good thing. He can't forget what it felt like to be sent home, even though they'd told him to come back and try again. It feels like he got close enough to touch what it might have been like to be like these guys, like Harry and Louis and Zayn and Niall, all with the experience of doing the live shows and the telephone votes and the Xtra Factor, and in Harry's case, Caroline Flack herself. The envy is like an actual, physical pain in his chest, but he can't get past the fact that he just wasn't good enough. The others were good enough and he wasn't, and it hurts. 

"Liam sings like an angel," Louis says, coming in after a bit with Zayn trailing after him with armful of bottles. 

"I don't," Liam says. _Not good enough for the X Factor_ , he thinks. 

"Shut up, you do," Louis says. He slings an arm around Liam's shoulders, and Liam likes the way that it feels. He shouldn't; he's been adopted by Louis and Harry and he doesn't quite understand how or why, but he knows that he shouldn't be having any of these kind of feelings about either of them. They want to be his friend, for reasons that are entirely outside of Liam's understanding, and all Liam wants is to be like them, and get to sing in front of people, and to stay plastered to Louis' side. God, it's been so long since he's just been _touched_. Maybe forever; his mum probably shouldn't count. 

His hands shake a bit, with want, and he tries to fake a smile. 

"Harry," Louis yells, not letting go of him. "Come and tell Liam he sings brilliantly."

"You sing brilliantly," Harry says, sticking his head around the door. "We're keeping you."

Liam knows he's going a bright, quite specific shade of red. 

"How did you guys meet?" Niall asks, cracking open a can of beer. 

"He was singing in the next karaoke booth to us last weekend," Louis says, still not letting go of him. "And like, me and Harry were drunk, and singing, and all we could hear was this fucking _genius_ , and we went to find him, and he was like, singing surrounded by his mates, only they'd all passed out—"

"They're not my mates," Liam says, without thinking.

Harry gives him an odd look. 

"They're not," Liam says, looking down at his feet. 

"Anyway, we got him to come and sing with us instead, because we weren't passed out drunk like a bunch of idiots, and then we realised he was fantastic in about two seconds flat, and we kept him all night."

Zayn raises his eyebrows at that. Liam tries not to notice. 

"Cool," Niall says, stealing a handful of crisps. "What kind of music do you like?"

"Lots," Liam says. "But like, I could go on for hours. Probably."

"Good," Niall says, and drags him off to the sofa. 

 

The party doesn't get properly started until late, and then Harry and Louis' flat is full of people who are richer and cleverer and funnier and more popular than Liam. He recognises Caroline Flack at one point, but she just hugs all the boys, stays for a cocktail, kisses Harry's cheek and leaves for another party. There are people that Liam recognises from the telly, and at least one gatecrasher who has to be thrown out by a huge beefy bloke that apparently worked X Factor security. There's music and talking and laughing and hugging and Liam can't cope with how many people there are, and how loud everything is. He can't escape to the kitchen because that's rammed full of people too, and so is the hall. There are people smoking on the front step, so Liam does the only thing he can think of to do, and sneaks into what he thinks is Harry's bedroom and sits on the bed for a bit. 

Zayn finds him after a while, probably by accident since Liam doesn't know anyone well enough for them to come looking. "You okay?" he asks, leaning against the door frame.

"I'm not doing anything wrong," Liam says quickly, just in case he shouldn't be in here or something. "I just needed a bit of peace for a minute."

"Didn't think that you were," Zayn says. He comes and sits down on the end of the bed, hands in the pockets of his jacket. "Louis and Harry throw a good party, don't they?"

"Suppose," Liam says, because he hasn't got anything to compare it to. Drinking at Andy's isn't the same thing at all. 

"So, what do you do when you're not being adopted by X Factor finalists?" 

That hurts, even though it isn't meant to. "I mend cars," he says. "I work at a garage."

"Oh." Zayn nods. "Cool."

"Not really," Liam says. The drink has loosened his tongue. "It's crap, really. But it's a job. I'm saving for a house."

"That's cool, though."

Liam nods. 

"You never thought about singing? If Harry and Louis say you're good, you must be."

Liam shrugs. "I thought about it for a bit, but not for ages." A while counts as ages. Probably. "It's not for me."

"Shame," Zayn says. "If it doesn't work out for me, I think I'm going to be an English teacher, or summat. That's what I wanted, before, you know?"

"I was crap at English."

"Probably had a shit teacher."

"Suppose." Liam shrugs. "I'm a bit thick, though. Don't think there was much a good teacher could have done with me."

Zayn really does laugh at that. "Definitely a shit teacher, mate. You don't have to be dead clever to like English."

"Maybe." He wants to ask about X Factor, about what it was like to stand up on the stage in front of the audience and the TV cameras and actually fucking sing. He still dreams about what the feels like. Zayn had been top five in the end. Louis had gone out first out of the four of them, then Niall, then Zayn, then Harry. He wasn't sure how Louis and Harry had ended up the most famous out of all of them, but they had, anyway. "What was it like, doing the live shows?"

Zayn glances at him. "Terrifying," he says. "And fucking brilliant. The adrenaline, mate. But shit, you know what was better? Doing the tour. Those arenas, everyone shouting your name. It's better than a fucking orgasm, that's what it is."

The want in Liam's chest is an actual, physical pain. "Sounds great," he lies, because it sounds like approximately the greatest thing in the world, ever. Liam's never been good enough, but it's only in this that he wishes he could change. He'd settle for everything else being the same if he just got to _sing_. 

"It was," Zayn says. He holds his empty bottle out. "I'm finished. You want a top up?"

Liam's drink is finished too, but he's not sure he wants more alcohol. He's out of place at this party, with its musicians, and singers, and London people. He's a trainee mechanic from Wolverhampton. He still has Castrol GTX under his fingernails from when he spilled it on Friday. He hasn't got anything interesting to say, and he never pulled anyone who worked on the X Factor, and he's never been photographed falling out of a club at three in the morning. He still goes home for his dinner on Sundays. He bets no one else here goes home to their mum's every Sunday. "Yeah," he says. "That sounds great."

"Beer?" 

"Whatever," Liam says. "I'm not fussy. I've just got to send a text. I'll be out in a minute."

He holds his phone in his hand. There's no one to text. He thumbs through his contacts. Harry's always on his phone. Look at all the people here tonight. If Liam _paid_ all the people he knew to turn up at the same place, at the same time, family and acquaintances, it still wouldn't equal anything close to this many people. 

"Zayn said you were in here." It was Harry. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Liam lies. "It's all right me being in here, isn't it? I just—I wanted a bit of quiet. I'm sorry." He doesn't know how to do parties. He's such an idiot. 

"Course it is," Harry says. "My house is your house, or whatever. You want a long island iced tea?" He holds out a glass. It looks like coke. It doesn't taste like coke. 

Liam wrinkles his nose and downs half of it in one go.

"Sorry," Harry says. "I forgot you wouldn't know anyone. We're dicks."

"It's not you. I'm a bit rubbish at people sometimes. I don't—I don't mean to be."

"You're not rubbish. I mean it. It's a house full of people you don't know. I'd be hiding in the bedroom too."

He wouldn't, and Liam knows it. Harry drinks people up like he's knocking back that long island iced tea. 

"Why'd you invite me?" Liam asks finally, because it's been going round and round in his head all day. "You don't even know me."

Harry makes a face. "Maybe we just want to know you better. Maybe we just like what we see. Maybe we just like you, you ever think of that?"

Not really, no. Liam shrugs. "Suppose."

"Seriously, you like us, right?" 

"Course," Liam says. "You're great. You and Louis. And the others."

"Well then. We think the same about you."

"Didn't think of it like that."

Harry elbows him at that. "Well, you should do." He smiles at him. Liam really likes his slow smile. "Do you want to come and see Louis making a tit of himself in the kitchen? He's making whisky sours."

"Never had one of those."

"Well, Louis'll make you one."

Liam nods over the lump in his throat and follows Harry out into the hall. 

 

Whisky sours are great, and long island iced teas are great, and then it's four in the morning and Liam's sitting on Louis and Harry's front step, cradling the last of his drink and humming along to Niall and his guitar. Most people have gone home, and the music inside's turned right down to low. Niall's having a cigarette, back up against the doorframe, picking out tunes whenever he takes a drag. Liam rests his chin against his knee and thinks that this might be the best night of his life. He's drunk, and so is everyone else, but nobody's thrown up around him or on him, and no one's written _prick_ across any of his belongings in supposedly semi-permanent marker pen. He wants to stay awake forever, so the night never ends. 

Wow, he's really drunk. 

"You staying, Niall?" Louis crouches on the front step, lighting a cigarette in his cupped hands. Liam hadn't even heard him come out. 

"Yeah," Niall says. "I'll find a space somewhere."

Louis grins, tilting his chin up to take a drag on his cigarette. "Good one. Don't eat us out of house and home in the morning."

"Would I," Niall rolls his eyes, stubbing out his cigarette. "Right, I'm turning in. Night, chaps."

"You know where everything is," Louis says. "Help yourself. Just not to the bacon."

Liam tips his head back against the wall, and closes his eyes. 

"Don't fall asleep there," Louis tells him, poking him in the ankle with a finger. "There's a perfectly good bed inside."

"I'm not sleeping," Liam says, not opening his eyes. "I'm never sleeping. Tonight's been ace."

"Good," Louis says, in satisfaction. "See how brilliant we are, making you come down for it." He taps Liam's knee. "Do you want a drag of this? I only smoke when I'm drunk. Well, except for weed, obviously."

Liam can't say obviously to that, because he never has. It gives him a bit of a thrill that Louis' even talking about it. Liam's personal brushes with illegality involve occasionally parking in a parent and child bay at the supermarket when he doesn't have a kid with him. And he always feels guilty, but Andy always tells him he's an idiot for that. He takes the cigarette anyway, even though he doesn't smoke, and takes a drag. It's not totally awful.

Louis just laughs at him, and curls his hand around Liam's ankle. "You don't smoke at all, do you?"

Liam coughs. "What gave you that idea?"

"No idea," Louis says. "Couldn't say. Stub it out, will you? I'm done. Come on. Let's go and find something to eat and then somewhere to sleep."

"All right," Liam says, and if he stumbles when he stands up, then Louis catches him, so everything's fine. 

Harry's in the kitchen, eating biscuits straight from the packet. "If you want to sleep in your bed, you're going to have to move Zayn first."

Louis rolls his eyes. "He's a lump."

"Niall's already passed out on the sofa."

Louis yawned. "Guess that means I'm in with you, then."

Liam supposes that he's on the floor, then. 

"You want anything to eat before we give it up and go the fuck to sleep?" Harry asks, passing Liam the plate with the last sausage roll on. 

Louis hooks his chin over Liam's shoulder. "You want that?"

Liam shakes his head. "You go ahead."

Louis grins, and steals the last sausage roll from under Liam's nose. 

"Right, then," Liam says. He should have brought a sleeping bag. He hadn't thought. 

"Right, then," Louis echoes. "Baggsy not in the middle."

Harry rolls his eyes. "We'll put Liam in the middle."

Liam blinks. "Um," he manages. 

"Excellent idea," Louis says. He grabs a box of chocolate fingers from the top of the microwave, a bottle of Jack Daniels from on top of the washing machine, and plucks at Liam's shirt with his fingertips. "Come on."

"Have you locked the doors?" Liam asks, unable to help himself. 

"We'll do it on the way," Harry says, nudging Liam towards the hall. Liam lets himself be dragged down the hall to Harry's bedroom, Louis stopping to lock the front door on the way past. 

This is—well. Louis and Liam both take off their jeans, and Harry takes off his shirt, but Louis leaves his on. Liam follows Louis' lead, and he doesn't know why he feels so nervous, when it isn't like he hasn't already shared with them before. He did it last weekend for a start. 

But Louis wasn't sprawled across Harry's bed last week, holding an open bottle of Jack Daniels and a tray of chocolate fingers last week. 

Liam refuses the whisky and takes a handful of fingers. 

Harry grins, and slides into bed. "Come on, Liam. Turn the light off, will you?"

"This is getting to be a habit," Liam says, turning the light out and climbing into bed. It's awkward, trying to find a space between Harry and Louis. "Last week, then this week."

"Come back next week and make it three in a row," Louis says. "Haz, you want a drink?"

It's dark in Harry's room, but as Liam's eyes adjust to the light, all he can make out is Harry and Louis grinning at each other. Maybe he needs a drink after all. 

"Pass it over," Harry says. Their hands brush Liam's. "You sure you don't want any, Liam?"

Liam shakes his head. His stomach already feels like it's turning somersaults; he shouldn't have anything that's going to add to that. It's probably all the excitement. "I should go to sleep."

"Nah," Louis says, poking him in the elbow. "Stay awake and tell us all your secrets."

Liam laughs at that, and tries not to make it sound awkward. "I haven't got any. I'm really boring."

"Oi," Harry says. "Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Putting yourself down," Harry says. He snuggles down under the covers. Liam doesn't know where the whisky has gone to. Harry rubs his nose over Liam's shoulder through his t-shirt. He rolls onto his side, and his knees bump into Liam's under the covers. 

"I'm not," Liam tries not to sound uncomfortable. It's just—he _is_ boring. He knows that. If there was anything interesting about him, then someone would have figured it out a long time before now. "It's just the truth, that's all. There's nothing interesting about me."

It's Louis' turn to curl into his side then, his feet brushing Liam's. "You don't genuinely believe that, do you? Because it's bollocks."

Liam hates this. "I'm just—I keep everything really small, all right? I get up, and I go to work, and I mend cars, and I hate it, and then to the gym, and then I go home and make my tea and then I go to bed. And then I do it again, every day. I'm saving up for a house. There's nothing interesting about me."

"Christ," Louis says. He wraps an arm around Liam's waist. "Who the fuck let you believe that?"

"I—I—" Liam doesn't know what to say. "But it's _true_. I'm really dull. If I was interesting, people would—" he stops. If he was interesting, then somebody, somewhere, would have wanted to be his friend. Somebody who wasn't Andy. 

Harry lets out a breath. "I agree with Louis. Who let you believe that?"

Liam feels hot and bothered. "It's _true_. Nobody let me believe it, it's just—true. I'm not interesting. I'm—" _nothing_ , he thinks. He doesn't say it out loud. 

"God," Louis says. "I'm going to punch all your friends in the face."

Liam twitches. "Can we talk about something else?"

Harry slides his hand over Liam's stomach, curling his fingers into Louis'. "Did you have a good time tonight? Are you glad you came?"

"Course I did," Liam says, only too aware of Louis and Harry's hands on his stomach. "It was brilliant. Thanks so much for inviting me."

"Well," Louis says. "You're our friend now, so don't expect us to let you go any time soon."

God, this was too much. Liam's chest was tight. He swallowed down something that felt suspiciously like a sob. _Don't cry_ , he begged himself. _Don't cry_. Boys don't cry, fuck. 

"Liam?" Harry sat up. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Liam says. "Let's talk about something else."

"You're upset," Louis says, sitting up too.

"I'm _not_ , it's nothing. Tell me your secrets, come on." Liam tries not to sound desperate. 

Harry leans in and touches his mouth to the corner of Liam's. 

Every single synapse in Liam's brain grinds to an immediate, desperate stop. He swallows. "What—?" 

Louis strokes at his jaw with the crook of his finger. "Is it all right?"

"Is what all right?" Liam asks. His heart is pounding. He's sweating. He hadn't considered this for a moment, not seriously, but now it's here he wants it so much it hurts. 

"If we kiss you," Harry's breath is warm against his cheek. He smells like whisky. 

"I haven't—" Liam doesn't know how to say _yes_ at the same time as explaining his inexperience. Would they still want to if they knew that nobody had ever wanted to kiss him before? And, oh god, Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson want to _kiss him_. It feels like his world is being turned upside down. 

"I hadn't kissed a boy until Harry, either," Louis tells him, his fingertips splayed across the collar of Liam's t-shirt. "It doesn't matter, so long as you want to." He leans in to whisper. "He's a good first time."

"It's not that," Liam says, and he knows he's going red. 

"Don't you want to?" Harry pulls back a bit. "It's all right if you don't. I thought I'd read it right, but I might not have."

"I've never," Liam starts, haltingly. 

"It's just like kissing a girl," Louis tells him. He's close enough that his nose brushes Liam's jaw. 

Liam burns bright red. "I've never done that, either."

Louis pulls back. "What?"

"I've never," Liam says again, and he wants to curl up and die. "No one's ever kissed me. Not ever."

"Everyone you've ever met is an idiot," Louis declares. "Jesus."

"Maybe I'm the idiot," Liam tries to laugh. "I was always asking the wrong girl out, probably. And then boys. I was picking the wrong ones on OK Cupid, I think. They never even messaged me back."

"God," Louis says. "Literally everybody in the world is wrong."

"Can I kiss you?" Harry asks softly. "Can I be your first?"

"Do you want to?" Liam asks. "I know I'm a loser."

"You have to stop saying that," Louis says. "Fuck, you have to stop _believing_ that. Your friends are awful if they've let you believe that for this long."

"Louis," Harry says. Even Liam can hear the warning in it. 

Liam feels like an idiot.

"Liam," Harry says. "Can I? We—me and Louis. We want to be your first kiss."

"You can't both be," Liam says. "That doesn't make any sense."

Louis leans in to kiss his cheek. "We'll both count," he says. "We think you're brilliant."

Liam knows his skin is flushed. It's a good thing it's dark. "All right," he says. He doesn't want to be a failure. He doesn't want to let them down. He doesn't want to get it wrong. 

Harry shifts a little so that he's leaning over Liam, and Liam feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest, especially when Harry leans in a little further, and nudges at Liam with his nose, tilting Liam's chin up with his fingertips. He touches his mouth to Liam's, and Liam can feel himself trembling. Harry stays still for the longest moment, the kiss the most gentle thing Liam can imagine, and then he shifts a little—a breath—then he's kissing him again, so slow, and so, so gentle. 

Liam would never, ever, ever have imagined that his first kiss would go like this. 

"There," Harry says, a minute later. He strokes the crook of his finger along Liam's jaw. 

Liam can't find anything in his head that's worthy of being said out loud. That was perfect.

"I think it's my turn now," Louis says, and Harry sits back to let Louis shift so that he's kneeling over him, and Liam's brave enough to slide his hands down over Louis' hips. Louis grins down at him in the darkness, and Liam tries to smile too, even as Louis is shifting so that he can cover Liam's mouth with his own, catching him in a slow, soft kiss that makes Liam tremble right down to his toes. 

"Gosh," Liam says, which is proof if proof were needed that he's a perennial loser. He doesn't feel it, though. Not right now, when Harry's hand has somehow found its way into his, and Louis' stroking his finger down Liam's cheek. 

Louis laughs at that, leaning in to press his mouth to the corner of Liam's. "You're so hot."

Liam blushes, still trembling, and Harry rubs his thumb over Liam's hip. "You going to let us kiss you again?"

"Are you asking?"

Harry smiles in the darkness, breath warm against Liam's cheek. "Yes," he says softly, and he touches his mouth to Liam's again, gentle and slow. 

Louis presses closer, feet tangling with Liam's under the sheets. "See if you can get rid of us now."

Liam tilts his chin up, just a little, just enough, and hesitantly kisses Harry back, his hand finding Louis' under the sheets. 

"Yeah," Harry says. "Like that."

 

When he gets back to Wolverhampton on Sunday evening, Liam lies on his sofa and stares up at the ceiling, and tries to remember the last time he felt so _happy_. 

 

He's woken up on Monday morning by a text message that just says, _my bed is better with you and Louis in it_. 

He feels warm, right down to his toes. 

 

Liam's birthday starts badly. His parents are on holiday, for a start—which is _fine_ , they asked him before they booked the caravan, and about a hundred times after that if he wanted to come with them to Llandudno, and he'd kept saying no—but the post doesn't arrive before he has to leave for work, so he doesn't even have any birthday cards to open. There was supposed to be a trip to the pub in the evening with Andy, and Liam had kind of hoped that it would turn out to be in honour of his birthday, but a text from Andy that arrives just as he's getting to work suggests it's just about the footy on the telly instead. Then, no one at work even says _happy birthday_ to him, which means that they forgot too, so by the time that Harry texts to say _morning!!!_ he can't muster up any enthusiasm to send back anything more than a muted, _hi_. 

He has no idea what's going on with him and Louis and Harry, anyway. Yes, they talk multiple times a day, every day, but they've still only really met twice, even if it had been overnight both times. He isn't likely to forget the way they'd kissed him any time soon, or the way they'd bracketed him all night long afterwards, kissing him over and over again like they didn't think he was a total loser. They'd kissed him goodbye in the morning too, in front of Zayn and Niall, ignoring their raised eyebrows and coughs. And since then, the way that they've talked to each other has changed too. They sign off texts to him with hearts and kisses, and leave him voicemails and send him picture messages that cost him money to try and open on his shit old phone. 

Liam really, really doesn't know how to deal with people who are like this. He doesn't know what any of it means, or what he's allowed to want, or expect from them. It has to be a phase, right? Soon they're going to get bored of him and go back to their real lives, and he's going to be left here, doing the same thing he's been doing over and over for months. One day soon they're going to realise what everyone realises at some point or another: Liam isn't worth being friends with, and Liam is doing his best to put that day off as long as possible, but he knows it's coming. He isn't stupid. That day always comes. 

He's so underprepared for all of this. He keeps remembering Louis saying, _we're not together_ and _it's complicated_. Liam isn't built for _it's complicated_. He doesn't know what he's allowed to want. He doesn't know if Louis and Harry kiss each other the way they kissed him. He's never seen them. He's so out of his depth, and one of these days, they're going to realise that about him, and that'll be the end. 

His phone buzzes with a call ten minutes after his text back to Harry, and as there's not much he can do until Mick's finished doing the brakes test on the car he's doing the MOT for, Liam goes outside into the sunshine to answer it. 

"You don't sound like you're sweetness and light today," Louis says, without preamble. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Liam lies. "Everything's fine."

"Harry," Louis yells, without bothering to cover the phone. "Liam's not okay."

"I'm fine," Liam protests. 

"Yeah, yeah," Louis says, and then Harry takes the phone. 

"What's up?"

"Nothing, everything's fine."

"Doesn't sound like it." Sometimes the fact that Louis and Harry actually choose to listen to what Liam's not saying is a real pain in the arse. 

"It's nothing, all right—"

"How about you tell us what nothing is, and we'll tell you if it's all right. Sound good?"

Liam examines his nails for a moment. "It's my birthday," he says finally. "I think everyone forgot."

"Jesus Christ," Louis says, and that's how Liam figures out he's on speakerphone. "We're coming up. Why didn't you tell us?"

"I don't know. Didn't seem important. You don't have to come up, it's fine. It's not a big deal, I'm being an idiot."

"Shall we just come and meet you at the garage, how about that?" Louis says. 

"I'll get the sat nav," Harry says, wandering away from the speaker. "Get him to give us his address."

"You really don't have to, it's fine. You don't have to go out of your way or anything."

"Don't be a dickhead," Louis says. "It's your birthday, of course we want to spend it with you. Have you forgotten that we think you're brilliant?"

"Or that we're trying to adopt you?" Harry says, coming back in some kind of muffled vicinity to the phone. "Got the sat nav. We've got a meeting in half an hour, but if we leave after that we should be there sometime this afternoon. Tell us the address, I've got the sat nav on now."

Liam dutifully gives them the garage address. He can't help but feel some kind of excitement and relief at the idea of seeing Harry and Louis again, but inside he's just a mess of confusion. He really, really didn't know he was allowed to expect _this._ He finishes giving them the postcode, quickly because Mick's finished doing the brakes and he has to take over, and then he hangs up and goes back inside to work. 

He tries to keep his mind on his work for the rest of the day, but it's really hard. The jobs he's got on aren't exactly taxing, which is good—there's only a couple of oil changes and a health check for a little old lady who never really drives any further than Sainsbury's—and his mind is definitely on other things. Time passes slowly. At lunchtime he says _fuck it_ , and goes to the shop for a Victoria sponge with vanilla buttercream, and puts it by the kettle in the little office off the side of the garage. There's a bit of embarrassed coughing and furtive, secret conversations between Mick and Gary and Hedge, and then Hedge disappears early-afternoon, only to return with a birthday card, a key ring shaped like a pint glass, and a clanking carrier bag of beer bottles. 

Liam feels warm all the way down to his toes. "Thanks," he says, taking the bag. "This is brilliant, thanks, guys." Liam appreciates the gesture even though he doesn't drink all that much. He'll just keep them to one side for when Andy comes over.

His mum and dad ring mid-afternoon, having driven somewhere especially to find a mobile signal. It's great to talk to them, even if it is only for a minute because calling mobile to mobile is expensive. His sisters send their love. Andy texts him to remind him to come to the pub. It's everything Liam could have asked for in a birthday, and he feels like an idiot for complaining earlier. He's half tempted to text Louis and Harry and tell them not to come, but he doesn't, because he knows they're already somewhere en route. 

Anyway, he's allowed to be a bit selfish on his birthday. It's only going to be this year; next year Louis and Harry will be a distant memory. He's allowed to enjoy them for just one day, he's sure. 

He doesn't text them. 

They arrive late in the afternoon, bickering as they tumble out of the car, dragging a Clifford the big red dog birthday balloon behind them. 

"It was all we could get at short notice," Louis says, as Liam hurries over, wiping his hands on his overall to get the worst of the oil off. "Wow," he says, looking Liam up and down. "Is this what you look like every day?"

Liam looks down at his oily t-shirt and the denim jacket he'd cut the sleeves off of at the beginning of the summer. He's wearing an ex-RAF flight suit as an overall, unzipped to the waist and hanging off his hips. "Um. Yeah?"

"Christ," Louis says. "Have you always had those arms, and shoulders, and everything?"

"Um, I suppose?" Liam blushes. 

Harry looks him up and down, a slow smile curving across his face. "Hi," he says. He bites his lip. "Happy birthday. We didn't know if we could kiss you hello, or not. So we didn't."

Liam blushes, glancing back over his shoulder towards the garage, where Hedge and Mick are finishing up. "Better not," he says. 

"How about a hug, then?" Harry asks. 

"I'm all dirty," Liam says, looking down at his oily work clothes.

"We don't mind if you don't."

Liam bites his lip. "A hug's okay," he says. 

"Good," Louis says, and wraps his arms around Liam's shoulders, Harry a second behind him. 

He's never been hugged by two people before. He doesn't know if he can hug back. 

"Happy birthday," Harry tells him, again. 

"Yeah," Louis echoes, still not letting go of him, or the Clifford balloon. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks for coming," Liam says, disentangling himself a little awkwardly. "I just have to go and tidy up. I'll only be a few minutes. Do you want some cake? There's some inside. I brought it in for my birthday."

"This is like my perfect day," Louis says. "Not only do we get to perv over you when you look like that, but there's cake too?"

"You can make yourself a cup of tea too," Liam suggests, quite sure that he's the colour of a bright red tomato. 

The car Liam's working on takes a bit longer than he expects to finish up, so by the time he's done, Gary and Hedge and Mick have all finished, and Liam's been allowed to lock up. Louis and Harry are sitting outside in the sunshine, sprawled on the little grassy bank next to the garage, drinking their tea and watching Liam work. The balloon is tied to one of the wing mirrors. Clifford looks like he's enjoying the sunshine too. 

Liam feels anticipatory and excited, right down to his toes. He shuts the main doors of the garage, and goes around making sure everything's switched off that needs to be switched off. He's sitting in the office, shrugging off his overalls and putting his boots back on, when he looks up to find Harry and Louis standing in the doorway, and grinning. 

"Everyone's gone," Harry says. 

"Yep," Louis adds, nodding. He dumps their cups on the draining board by the kettle, and takes a step closer. "Does this mean it's all right to kiss you now?"

Liam carefully hangs up his overalls on the hook by the door, and rubs his hands on his shirt. He goes through a lot of these t-shirts. He's already scrubbed the oil off his hands with industrial cleaner—nice—and he can still smell the fake lemon scent of the soap all over him. "I'm all sweaty," he says, in case that's a deal breaker. He's not _that_ sweaty, but then he's used to working in a garage. Louis and Harry aren't. 

"Is that a yes, or a no?" Harry asks, still leaning against the door. His hands are in his pockets. 

Liam wipes his sweaty hands against his jeans. He swallows. "It's a yes," he says, and his voice catches. "How could you think it would be anything other than a _yes?_ You're both _you_."

It sounds nonsensical when he says it out loud, but it doesn't seem to put either Louis or Harry off. 

"Thank fuck," Louis says, and he's crossing the office and catching Liam's face in his hands, leaning in and covering Liam's mouth with his own. Being kissed is just—it's still so new. Being kissed by Louis Tomlinson is something else entirely, because Louis is fierce and insistent and somehow manages to be gentle at the same time. Liam finds himself grabbing at Louis' elbows just to stay upright, Louis pressing him back against the sink. "I've wanted to do that since you left us." Almost two weeks ago. Liam blushes. 

"My turn, I think," Harry says, and insinuates himself into the gap between Louis and Liam, sliding a hand up and into Liam's short hair. Louis presses himself to Harry's back, and sneaks his hands into the back pockets of Liam's jeans. Harry nudges at Liam's nose with his own, his eyes bright. "Happy birthday," Harry tells him softly, for the third time, and then he touches his mouth to Liam's in a butterfly kiss, and then another, and another. 

Liam lets out a groan, and Harry grins against his mouth, deepening the kiss. Liam lets his eyes fall closed, and Harry kisses him, soft and slow. 

They're only interrupted by the insistent buzz of Liam's phone, vibrating its way across the table. 

"Leave it," Louis says, but Liam shakes his head. 

"It might be important."

It's Andy, telling him to come to the pub. Liam would say no, because for one reason, Harry's got his hand curled into the waistband of Liam's jeans, and because for another reason, Louis is pressing tiny kisses to the underside of Liam's jaw, fingers splayed over Liam's stomach through his shirt, but it's his _birthday_. "I've got a couple of friends here; you don't mind if they come to the pub too, do you?" Liam finds himself saying. He mouths, _you don't mind, do you?_ to Louis and Harry. They shake their heads. 

"Sure, whatever," Andy says. He sounds both a little surprised, and a little distracted. Liam wonders if it has something to do with his birthday. "The more, the merrier."

 

It doesn't have anything to do with Liam's birthday, because from the moment Liam, Louis and Harry walk into the pub, it's very clear that Andy has precisely no idea what day it is, and neither do any of his friends. 

"You're in the way of the telly, dickhead," Dale says, waving him out of the way. The big screen is showing Sky Sports in all its glory; there's some kind of pre-game breakdown going on. 

"Sorry," Liam says automatically, moving out of the way. Andy at least elbows Dale for that. 

"Sit down, sit down," Andy says. "Or, actually, if you're going to the bar, do you want to get me a drink? Your mates are going to need a seat, too. You should get some chips in. Who wants chips? And crisps for the meantime."

Liam's hand goes to his wallet, but Louis stops him. "Shouldn't you be buying Liam a drink?" he says, before Liam's had a chance to make him shut up.

Andy's eyes narrow. "Why would I do that? He's the one going to the bar, isn't he? I'll get him one next time it's my round. Don't I know you from somewhere? I'm sure I know you. And your mate. You really didn't go to school with us, did you? Did he go to school with any of you guys?"

"We're not from round here," Harry says. 

"I'm sure I know you from somewhere. How do you know our Liam, anyway?"

"Yeah, didn't think he had any friends." Tez. 

Liam goes a dark, embarrassed shade of red. 

"It's his birthday," Louis says, in a hard, quiet kind of a voice. "You forgot his birthday."

"Whose birthday?" Simple-Simon says. "Liam's? Wahey, it's Liam's turn to get the beers in, then. Mine's a Fosters, mate."

"Christ," Andy says. "Is it really your birthday?"

Liam tries to look up, but he can't. He's too embarrassed. Instead he fingers a damp beer mat that's half-hanging off the edge of the table, flipping it over and catching it. "Yep," he says, after a moment. 

"Fuck."

"Same date it is every year, I imagine," Louis says. "Well, considering you fuckheads have forgotten, I think me and Haz are going to take Liam out to celebrate, so you lads have a good night, now, all right?"

"Stay," Andy says. "Come on, Liam. Sit down. I'll get the beers in."

Liam starts to reach for a seat, but Harry stops him. 

"No," Harry says. "We're going to go and celebrate your birthday, Liam. Unless you'd rather stay and watch the footy?"

Liam looks at the screen. He doesn't even know who's playing. In the end, he shakes his head. "No," he says. "Let's just go."

"Okay," Louis says, catching Liam's denim jacket in his fingertips. "Let's go."

When they leave, Liam doesn't look behind him, even though he wants to. He stays looking at the ground, too embarrassed even to look at Louis and Harry. 

Now they really know what kind of a loser he is. 

This is the worst birthday ever. 

In the car park, Liam stands by the car and wraps his arms around himself. He really is about three seconds from crying, and he doesn't know what to do to make any of this better. 

"Sorry," he says, after a minute. 

"You haven't got anything to be sorry for," Harry says. 

"Seriously, are those fuckheads really your friends?"

"Andy is." Andy's his best friend. Andy's always been there for him, all the way through school. 

"He's a knobhead."

"Lou," Harry warns. 

"Don't say that about him," Liam says. "He's my best friend."

"Louis," Harry says, cutting Louis off before he says anything else. Liam goes even redder. 

"He didn't mean to forget, I'm sure," Liam says quickly. "Like, he's probably been really busy and everything, it's not a big deal at all."

Harry touches Liam's arm. "Don't think about that," he says. Liam blinks away something that feels suspiciously like tears. "Seriously, me and Lou are here to give you the best birthday ever. Just tell us what you want to do more than anything in the world."

"Go home," Liam says softly, without looking up. "I just want to go home."

Harry wraps his arms around Liam's neck, and holds on. 

_Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry_ , Liam tells himself. 

"We could pick up a takeaway," Louis suggests, a little hesitantly, as Harry pulls away. "And maybe a DVD? We could get snacks in and just spend the night on your sofa. Do you want to do that?"

"Why are you even _here_?" Liam snaps, before he can stop himself. "God, I'm such a fucking loser. You could be spending time with anyone, but you're here, and I just don't get why. Why aren't you like, running the fuck away? Surely there's a million and one people in London who are funnier and hotter and cooler and better than me. None of them are fucking crying in a car park because everything's shit. You're like— _famous_. I'm just—I'm nothing. Nobody's ever even wanted to kiss me. I'm just me. What are you even doing here?"

"We want to kiss you," Harry says. "We want to, like—" he stops. "We heard you sing and we wanted to sing with you, but it turned out that not only can you sing better than either of us, but you're brilliant, too. You make us laugh, and you're so kind, and you think of all the stuff that neither of us do. You made our party _great_ , and you picked out all the food, and everyone said how nice you were. Everyone liked you. You're not like anyone else I know. I know we're being weird and like, we won't leave you alone, but it's because we both think you're brilliant, and we're both desperately trying to be good enough to be your friend."

"What he said," Louis says. "You're pretty much the nicest person I've ever met, you know that? I mean, apart from Harry. Harry's nice to everybody, and so are you. We just want to be your friend. Well. We also want to kiss you, and it would be great if we could take you to bed, too, because that would just about be the best thing ever, but that stuff is totally optional. You can opt in and out of that. We kind of don't want you to opt in and out of being our friend. Are we being totally weird and stalker-ish? Are we those creepy people your mum warned you about?"

Liam shakes his head. He doesn't know what to say. He stays looking at the floor instead. "I'm not brilliant," he says. "I'm just—I don't have any friends. There's just Andy. The others aren't my friends. Half of them don't even like me. I was crap at school, and I used to get hit, and no one's ever even wanted to kiss me, apart from you two. I just keep thinking that you're going to figure this all out, and then you're going to just—stop. And I'm trying so hard to make you like me, but I can't hide who I am. It doesn't matter how hard I try to be cool and worthy, I'm still this underneath. I'm still just nothing."

"You stop that right now," Louis says fiercely. "You're not nothing. You might not believe it yet, but you're _brilliant_. You're brilliant, and you're ours, and we're not going anywhere. You're totally fucking stuck with us."

Liam looks up at that. 

"If you think for one second that you can get rid of us that easily," Harry says, grabbing his hand. "For serious."

Liam wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. He's not crying. It's fine. "You came all the way up here," he says. 

"Yep," Harry says. He's still holding Liam's hand. 

"On like, zero notice."

"Yep."

"Shouldn't I be asking how you want to spend your evening, after you've driven all this way?"

Louis very patiently wraps an arm around Liam's waist. "No," he says. "Because firstly, it's not the north pole, it's Wolverhampton. It's the fucking midlands. And secondly, because it's your birthday, and we've come up here because we want to do something that's nice for you, and that you're going to enjoy."

"Something that you want to do," Harry goes on. "And it doesn't matter what it is, because it's your birthday, and you get to choose. That's the birthday rule."

"So pick something," Louis says. "Anything, and it can be really little, or really big, and we can build up from there."

Liam thinks about Louis' arm around his waist, and Harry's hand in his, and the way they'd kissed him so very gently indeed two weekends ago. "Do you fancy bowling? We could go bowling."

Louis leans in and kisses Liam's cheek. "There we go," he says. "Let's go bowling."

Harry squeezes his hand. "There, that wasn't so hard. Get in the car, come on."

 

Bowling is a lot of fun. They wear the silly shoes, and put their names on the computer, and Harry turns out to be the least co-ordinated person in the history of forever, and doesn't care at all that he looks like a day-old giraffe in charge of a bowling ball. Louis jokes that they should really ask for the inflated sausages to be put up down the sides of the lane so that Harry could get a single point on the screen.

"Oi," Harry says, lazily leaning his head against Liam's shoulder. "Liam likes me just as I am, don't you, Liam?"

"Yes," Liam awkwardly pats Harry on the head. 

Louis rolls his eyes, and goes to bowl. 

"He's wiggling his arse on purpose," Harry says, without removing himself from Liam's shoulder. Liam suggests putting an arm around Harry to himself, but doesn't make the move. "He's doing it so you'll look."

"Am not," Louis says, without turning round. 

"He definitely, definitely is," Harry says. "Not that I'm complaining, it's a marvellous arse."

"Thank you," Louis says, shooting the ball. He comes back to the rack to pick up a second ball. "How about you, Liam? You like what you see?"

"Stop making him feel uncomfortable," Harry pokes Louis in the leg with his toe. "Liam doesn't need to rate your arse on his birthday."

Liam swallows. "It's a nice arse."

Louis grins. "I know," he says. "You decided what you want to do after this, yet?"

"Dunno. I'm hungry? So, food?"

"Definitely." Harry is still pressed to Liam's side. "What do you fancy?"

"Can we just go get McDonalds?" Liam knows that Louis and Harry go to fancy restaurants all the time, but he never feels comfortable in places like that. He just wants a burger and chips and a huge milkshake, and all the gunk that comes on a Big Mac.

Harry doesn't blink. "Eat in, or take away?"

Liam's heart is pounding. "We could go back to mine. Take it away."

"Perfect," Harry says. "Lou, after this, we're getting McDonald's and taking it back to Liam's."

Louis gives Liam a quick, assessing look. "Brilliant."

"All right," Harry pats Liam on the arm. "Your turn to bowl."

 

Liam's flat is a tiny, downstairs flat in an old terrace not that far from the town centre. It's creaky and old, but the windows in the bedroom open out into the garden, so it's nice in the summertime even if the storage heaters drive him mad in the winter. It's also cheap, and Liam's putting the majority of his wage every month into his house fund, so he's apologetic about the state of the place. It's close enough to work that he can walk it, so that saves him having to have a car, too.

"Shush," Louis says, sneaking past him in the hall to go and explore. There's not that much to explore; there's a toilet, a bath with a shower attachment, a bedroom with its garden view, and the kitchen/diner. It's long and narrow, and the cupboards don't match in the kitchen. The oven's more of a Baby Belling than an actual hob, but whatever, it does him his tea every night so he can't complain. 

Liam tries to put things a bit tidy, putting the bread in the breadbin, and the breadboard and the knife he used to make his sandwiches that morning into the sink. He brushes the crumbs into his hand and sweeps them into the bin. 

"It's nice," Harry says, which is a lie. It's not nice. It's got all of Liam's things in it, and the old family TV from his mum and dad's place, but he also has his videos from when he was a kid, and his singing medal from that competition he won when he was fifteen, and a boxing rosette, and pictures of his family and of him and Andy all round the mirror in the living room. The sofa was his mum's friend's next door neighbour's old one, and the table had come from a junk shop, and even the sheets on the bed were his mum's old ones. All of the kitchen stuff either came from his mum's or the charity shop, his microwave was Argos' value range, and all of his utensils came from the pound shop. He was suddenly very aware of what all of this must look like to an outsider. 

"Are we eating this out of the cartons, or do you want us to have plates?" Louis asks, opening the cupboards in the kitchen. 

"Plates," Liam says, because if he's having a birthday tea, they should at least have it round the table. 

"I love your posters." Harry's walking around the living room, looking at all of Liam's posters. They're mostly for films and bands. He didn't like the bare walls, so he'd started collecting things to cover them up. "Star Wars, yes."

"I love Star Wars." Liam sticks his hands in his pockets and tries not to look awkward.

"Cutlery?" Louis bangs open the drawer. It's not his fault; you have to know to be gentle with it or it shoots out at you.

"Yep," Liam says. He bundles his post into a pile on the little table that he keeps pushed up against the wall because of space. He pulls it out so that they can all sit round it. He has mats that used to be his nan's. 

It should be weird, sitting down to eat McDonald's with two X Factor finalists in his scruffy flat on his birthday, but he's starting to think of them less as people he knows off of the telly and more as _friends_. Friends is a weird term, because he can't help but look at them and think about them kissing him, and kissing him again earlier. These beautiful, sexy, talented boys want to kiss him, apparently, and Liam really, really doesn't know what to do with that, other than want it too. 

Plus, Liam's eating his burger one-handed because Harry's holding his hand over the table, so there's that. Louis has his feet all tangled up with his under the table, and he's got ketchup on his chin, and Liam kind of wants to lean in and lick it off. That's weird, right? He shouldn't want to do that. 

"Can I make a suggestion about what we do next?" Harry's finished his burger, and is dipping the remains of his chips in ketchup. 

"So long as it involves making Liam feel brilliant," Louis says, shooting him a grin. 

Liam blushes. 

"So, I was thinking," Harry goes on, "and you can say no to this, I swear you can, but I was thinking that what me and Louis really want to do, is take you to bed."

Liam's heart is pounding. "I haven't—"

"I know," Harry says. "And we'd take it so slow, we promise."

"I don't know what to do," Liam admits. He's blushing a dark, fiery red. 

"You let us worry about that, for a start." Louis curls his fingers around Liam's. "We can just kiss, if you want."

"There's three of us," Liam's voice sounds a bit choked up. "I didn't think you were supposed to do it in threes. It's supposed to be two."

"Sometimes it can be three. I think—if everyone wants it to be three, it can be three. If everyone wants it." Harry was chewing on his lip. 

"I want it to be three," Louis tells him. "I want it to be us three."

Harry looks straight at him. "I want it to be us three too. But if you don't—if for one second you don't, you just have to say, and we'll watch films or something and it won't be awkward at all, we promise."

Liam looks down at his plate, and then back up at Louis and Harry. "I want—I want it to be us three too."

Harry's face relaxes into a smile. "Yeah."

"Fuck, yeah," Louis says. He takes a long slurp of his milkshake. "How about now?"

"I haven't finished my drink," Liam picks up his shake.

"I'm taking mine with me." Harry grabs his drink, pushing his chair back. 

Liam bites his lip to keep from grinning, and stands up. 

 

They take his clothes off way too slowly for Liam's liking, stopping after each piece to kiss him again, one after the other. They won't let him help undo any of the buttons, or take off any of his clothes by himself. Louis licks his way down Liam's throat as Harry undoes his bootlaces, and then they swap whilst Louis helps him off with his socks. 

Liam can undress himself, he really doesn't need help, but there's something perfect about the attention that they're showing him that makes his heart expand in his chest. He lets them get on with it, until he's standing there in just his pants, and he's mostly hard, and they're still fully clothed. 

"Get undressed," he begs. "It feels weird being like this by myself."

Harry just grins, and pulls off his shirt, kicking off his shoes and peeling off his socks. His jeans come next, and he shucks them off easily, mostly undressed even before Louis' taken his t-shirt off. 

"Slowcoach," he says, but Louis just sticks his tongue out and doesn't speed up. His trousers join his Toms on the floor, his t-shirt, his hat...and then he takes his underwear off, stepping out of it like it's nothing, like he's not naked in Liam's bedroom. 

God, it's Liam's first time at this. He's so hard already. 

Harry takes off his underwear, and god, he's big. He's big, and hard, and grinning, and Louis' hand slides around his waist. 

"Happy birthday," Harry says, his voice slow. 

"Yeah," Louis echoes. "Happy birthday."

And then they take his pants down, freeing his erection, and lead him back to the bed, pulling back the covers. Louis sits down first, arranging the pillows behind him, and then he beckons Liam down to sit in between his legs, back flush to Louis' chest. 

"Comfy?" Louis asks, sliding his hands down over Liam's stomach.

"Uh-huh," Liam nods, even though he can feel Louis' dick pressing up against his arse. 

Harry crawls onto the bed until he's close enough to press a kiss to Liam's un-protesting mouth. "Can I blow you?" he asks. 

"Yeah," Liam says, without even really thinking about it. Louis' playing with his nipples, rolling them between his finger and thumb. Liam's already feeling a little hazy, even as he watches Harry get in position between his legs, bending down. He pushes his hair behind his ears, and grins up at Liam from under those long eyelashes, and then he's ducking in, and running his tongue over the tip of Liam's dick. 

He groans, unable to help himself, his hips rolling up. 

Louis keeps him pinned in place with a hand to his stomach. He mouths at the skin beneath Liam's ear. "Doesn't he look good down there, on his knees for you?"

Liam nods. His mouth's too dry to talk. Harry's mouth is around his dick. Louis just keeps touching him, his hands everywhere. 

"It's all he's talked about," Louis confides, blowing out a breath against Liam's jaw. "I watched him come last night, and all he talked about the whole way through was how much he wanted to do this for you."

"Oh god," Liam manages, because his brain feels like it's leaking out of his ears. His hips buck up; he can't stop shifting position on the sheets. This is too much. Harry makes a protesting noise around his dick. 

God, his dick is in Harry's _mouth_. 

"Careful," Louis says, kissing his cheek. "Do you need me to hold you still?"

Liam really, really didn't know that that was something he could have, or something he could want. "Yes," he says, when he remembers he can speak, and because he's nothing if not polite, he adds, "please." 

Louis splays his fingertips over Liam's throat, tilting his chin up so that he can press his mouth to Liam's. His other arm is around Liam's waist, an unrelenting barrier, keeping him still. Liam moans into Louis' kiss, his hands fisting in the sheets. "There we go," Louis says. "There you go."

Liam tries to rock his hips up, but Louis keeps him pressed close to him, even though Harry's making obscene noises around his dick, spit-slick and practiced. 

He could stay here forever and watch Harry like this. Louis keeps kissing him, along his jaw, his cheek, his mouth. His fingertips keep Liam's chin tilted up, and Liam knows he's making all kinds of noises that he probably shouldn't, his skin flushing pink as he feels his orgasm start to build in his belly. 

"Oh, you like this," Louis says, "you really like this."

Liam nods, head tipped back against Louis' shoulder. "Yeah."

"We're just going to make you come all night long," Louis goes on, keeping him still with one arm across his chest. It feels so, so good, and so protective, and Liam feels loved. He knows this isn't love, that it isn't anything close to it for Louis and Harry, but it is for him. They rescued him, and they looked after him, and they offered him friendship when no one else did. He loved them even before they kissed him and made everything a hundred times better; he loved them the moment they rescued him from a room full of drunk people who didn't have time for him. He loves them now, when their focus is him, and him alone. He loves them for everything they've done for him, and everything they could be in the future, and he can never tell them any of this, but he feels it nevertheless. He feels it. 

"There," Louis says, stroking along his jaw with his thumb. Liam's orgasm has been building for what feels like forever; he's breathless and sweat-slick, and Louis' arm is sticking to him. He's so close, though. He has to be. Every time he looks down and sees Harry's hollowed out cheeks and reddened, slick lips around his dick, he dies his own little death once again. "If you could see yourself right now."

Liam doesn't want to think about himself. He wants to think about Harry, curled up between his legs and sucking him off, and Louis, wrapped around him and telling him he's loved. At least: that's what it feels like. He's allowed the pretence in this moment, on this day. 

"You going to come for us?" Louis's mouth touches his, hardly a kiss at all, everything all at once. "We can see how close you are. Harry can feel it, look."

Liam nods, trying to catch Louis' mouth in a kiss, but he's too breathless for that. His orgasm stretches over his skin, infinite and star-bright. When he comes, Louis covers his mouth with his own, kissing him through it, catching Liam's heart on his tongue. 

Harry crawls up the bed, knees either side of Louis and Liam's. He wraps his arms around both of them, and holds on, nose pressed to Liam's throat, breath hot against his skin. 

Liam closes his eyes.

 

They drink cups of tea at two in the morning, Harry pressing Liam up against the kitchen cabinets as Louis picks out teabags with the tips of his fingers and pours them all milk. There are Asda value ginger biscuits and they fight over which one of them gets to hold Liam's hand. Neither of them win, or they both win, Liam doesn't know. He ends up being kissed by Harry as Louis fingers him open on the bed afterwards, intimate and nerve-wracking and so, so hot. 

Louis rims him after that, Harry holding his hand and jerking him off all at the same time. He can't understand why people ever thought that this would be a good thing to try in the first place, but fuck, he's glad they did, and that they told other people, because it feels like Louis is taking him apart with his tongue. He comes into Harry's hand, and Harry kisses him breathless whilst Louis cleans his teeth with Liam's toothbrush. After that, they both wrap themselves around him, and it's sweat-sticky and way too hot even with the covers pushed off, but Liam doesn't care. For the first time he feels like he's the centre of someone's universe—of more than one person's universe—and it's just for one night but it feels like he's walking on air. He's floating above the bed somewhere, and the only thing that's keeping him tethered to the ground is them, Louis' mouth kissing his shoulder, and Harry, his cheek.

"Good birthday?" Harry asks, just when Liam's half-convinced he's the only one of them still awake.

"The best," he says, which isn't exactly adequate. 

"Next year we'll plan it properly," Louis says sleepily, his words fuzzy against Liam's skin. "Take the day off, you know. Get better balloons."

"I love my balloon," Liam says, to cover how hard his heart is beating. It's tied to the table in the living room, floating over the kitchen counter like a giant red dog should. 

"Well, we'll get more of them, then," Harry tells him. He rubs his nose against Liam's shoulder. "Have you got stuff in for breakfast?"

"Cornflakes," Liam says. "And toast."

"Breakfast of kings," Louis sounds mostly asleep, but he's awake enough to sneak his hand around to wrap around Liam's dick. "God, I love your dick. Can I wake you up with a blow job?"

"So long as it's not right now," Liam says. His dick is sleepy, quite like him. It's making a cursory attempt at getting hard in Louis' fist, but that's about it. 

"Later," Louis slurs, clearly almost one hundred per cent asleep. "In the morning."

"Yeah," Liam says. "I'd like that."

"We're really glad we met you, Liam Payne," Harry says, eyes closed. "Best trip to the karaoke ever."

"Yeah," Liam says again, and means it. 

 

Louis does, in fact, wake him up with a blow job. Well, to be exactly honest, he wakes him up with a cup of tea and a kiss, but after that, there's a blow job. Harry kisses him the whole way through, and when Liam comes, Louis slides off half way through and the rest of it ends up on Louis' face. 

That does nice, hot things to the inside of Liam's head he's not going to forget in a hurry. 

"Shouldn't I be making you both come?" he asks, a little hazily. "I'm the one getting the most orgasms out of this."

"Well," Harry says. "It's your birthday. It's kind of our aim to make it perfect for you."

"'S'not my birthday anymore."

"Birthday boxing day, then. Boxing birthday?" Harry's not taking no for answer. "There's the rest of the year for equal orgasms for all. Today we don't mind running behind."

Louis wraps his hand around his dick. "I'm going to catch up by one, though."

Harry laughs, and Liam buries his face in his hands. He can't believe he's not a virgin anymore, and that the reason he isn't is these two. He's never even seen them kiss each other and not him.

"Do you two even kiss?" Liam asks, before he's given himself a chance to think it through. "I've never seen you."

Louis' still lazily wanking himself off. "We kiss," he says. 

"Well, as far as I'm concerned, you don't, because I haven't seen you." He elbows Louis in the side, then Harry. "That was a hint, by the way." Gosh, when had it got to the point where he was comfortable making _hints_. "Come on, I want to see."

Harry slides his hand into Louis'. "I'm not sure we've ever kissed in front of anyone, actually."

"I know," Liam says. "It's complicated."

"Not with you, it isn't. With you it's easy."

"Well then." Liam's blushing. "Will you—you two, together. I'd really, really love to see the two of you together."

Harry's brows furrow. "Are you sure? This is supposed to be all about you."

"This is all about me," Liam tells them, perfectly honestly. He thinks he could probably die happy in his bed if he could just see Harry and Louis together. "And if you, like—um—if you wanted to make each other come then that would work well for me too. I'm just saying. I mean, if we're talking about birthday presents, and everything."

Louis looks flushed. "That's what you want?"

Liam never knew he could ask for something like this. It's what he really, really wants. After all this is over, and they don't remember his name any more, he's going to remember these couple of days, and the way this weekend's shaping up, and he's going to remember watching Louis and Harry together. His mouth is dry just at the thought. "That's what I want," he says. "And it is my boxing birthday day. Or whatever we're calling it."

Harry bites his lip. He darts in and presses a kiss to the corner of Liam's mouth. "All right, but if you want to stop it at any point, we'll stop."

"I know," Liam says, tilting his chin up for another kiss. And the thing is: he does know. They've given him that, at least, for his birthday. 

Louis crawls up onto his knees. His dick's hard, and he keeps his fist wrapped loosely around it. If they get the chance to do this again, Liam wants to learn to give blow jobs. 

Harry kisses him again, quick as anything, and then shuffles over to kneel up next to Louis. Harry really does have a pretty magnificent cock. Which isn't to say that Louis' isn't seriously fucking hot, because he is, it's just—Harry's has a breadth of its own. 

"Hi," Louis says, to Harry. He's biting his lip. 

"Hi yourself," Harry says, nudging his chin up. He cups Louis' face in his hand. Louis lets out a breath, and closes the distance between them, catching Harry's mouth in a kiss. It's not actually as easily familiar as Liam might have expected, and he remembers Louis' _it's complicated_ with a new respect for the fact that it actually might be. They do know each other, though, and they fit together with an ease that sits apart from the slight awkwardness of their kiss. Then Louis gives in, and kisses Harry harder, hands sliding up into Harry's hair, down over his shoulders, cupping the back of his neck. He's not gentle like he's been with Liam. He's breathless and rough and Harry responds in kind, one hand in the small of Louis' back, the other in his hair, cupping his face—and it's so, so beautiful to watch. Liam's hard, but he's not doing anything about it. He doesn't want to. He just wants to watch the two of them instead, watch as the initial urgency shifts into something where they're reaching for each other's dicks instead, rocking up into each other's fists, kisses open-mouthed and loud. 

And Liam knows they're both sneaking glances at him as well as each other, heads angled towards him. He feels like he's a part of something even though he's just sitting here, even though he's just watching. 

God, he's going to see them come. 

He doesn't have long to wait, Louis giving in first and rolling his hips up and into Harry's fist, head tipping back as he comes. His loses his grip on Harry's dick as he sinks back down onto his heels, and Liam watches as Harry uses Louis' come to lube his own dick as he brings himself off. 

Fuck. _Fuck_. 

Louis slides one hand into Liam's. He's flushed pink, still breathless, and he has come all over his stomach. Liam can't stop looking at the streaks of come on Louis' belly, and Harry's hand on his dick, his head tipped back. 

Liam can't help it. He leans over and swipes a finger through the come on Louis' belly, and licks at it. He wants to see what Louis tastes like; he's never blown anyone or made anyone come. He doesn't know. 

"Christ," Louis manages, and then he's running his thumb over Liam's bottom lip, and Liam wants to lick him, because he was wanking Harry off with that hand; he has to taste like Harry, and Liam really, really wants to know what Harry tastes like. 

"Louis," Harry bites his lip. " _Lou_."

Louis focuses his attention back on Harry again, pulling Harry down to kiss him, sliding his hand down around Harry's, helping to bring him off. Liam can hear Harry gasping into Louis' kiss, breathless and slick. When Harry finally starts to come, Liam tentatively reaches forward to catch some on his fingertips. 

Harry swallows, his throat working even as he sits back on his heels, skin flushed. "Do you want to—" he says, and his voice is even rougher than normal. "You can taste it, if you want."

Liam licks his fingers, and Harry closes his eyes. 

"Wow," he says.

Liam's left wiping his fingers on his thigh, even as Louis tumbles down beside him, and plasters himself to Liam's side, arm across his stomach. "How was that?"

"Um, perfect," Liam says, and he reaches for Harry too, drawing him down so that he's curled into his side too. "You two are like—I don't know, all right, but watching you two was—" He doesn't actually have the words. 

Harry drops a kiss to his ribcage. "Any time," he says. "Whatever you want."

Liam really, really wants to take him up on it. Forever, actually. It's a silly dream. He has to remember to be happy with the here and now.

"Hey," Louis says, stroking his fingertips over Liam's belly, and inching further down towards Liam's erection. "Do you want to come too?"

"It's all right," Liam says, although the answer is _yes_. 

"Like, all right, _yes_ , or all right, _no_?" Harry asks. 

Liam bites his lip. "Like, yes? If that's all right."

Louis laughs at that, twisting and rubbing his nose over Liam's stomach. "Seriously, how can we make you believe how much we like you?"

"I believe you," Liam says, which is only partially a lie, so he's counting it as a win. It's not like he has all that much experience of making friends that stick around to fall back on. 

"Hmm," Harry says. "We'll make you believe us. Someday." He strokes his hand down over Liam's hip, and cups his balls. 

Liam whines before he can stop himself. 

Louis looks amused, even as Liam goes red. "I'm going to figure out every last bit of you that makes you make noises like that," he says, lacing his fingers with Harry's, heel of his hand pressed to the underside of Liam's dick. 

"You're both evil," Liam says, and the fact he's making jokes at all, let alone when he's got Louis and Harry's hands on his dick, is worthy of celebration. But then they start to wank him off together, and Liam very quickly loses any faculties he had remaining for actual coherent thought, especially when Louis licks at his nipples. 

Sex is brilliant. It's no wonder people want to have it all the time. 

It doesn't take him long to orgasm, Harry working his cock even after he's finished coming, until Liam starts to tremble and Harry loosens his grip, shifting position so that he's resting his cheek against Liam's shoulder. 

Liam tips his head back on the sheets and lets them both run their fingertips over his skin until his brain has returned to any kind of workable state. 

"Christ," he says finally, after a while. 

They both laugh at that.

"Fuck, I really need a shower." Liam's sticky and ridiculous and has come all over his stomach, and probably elsewhere too. He's come so many times he can't count up. He really needs a nap and a shower and a really good breakfast. 

"Let's shower together," Harry suggests.

Liam laughs at that. "You have to hold the shower attachment above your head as you stand in the middle of the bath in my manky bathroom. There is nothing sexy about my bathroom."

"Another time, then," Harry says lazily. "Rock, paper, scissors for who gets first shower?"

Harry wins, and Liam shouts instructions for how to use the shower and where to find a towel from the comfort of his bed, his arm around Louis' shoulder as Louis pillows himself on Liam's chest, and draws pictures with his fingertip on Liam's stomach. It's so unbelievably perfect that he can't find the words to say thank you. 

Louis lifts his head and kisses the underside of Liam's jaw, so maybe he doesn't need to say it out loud anyway. 

The doorbell goes when Harry's still in the bathroom, and Liam reluctantly rolls out of bed, trying to find a pair of pants suitable for answering the door. 

"Stay in bed with me," Louis whines, reaching for him. 

"No," Liam says, darting out of the way of Louis' hand as he pulls on his pants. "It might be important."

"It won't be," Louis says, clambering out of bed and making a grab for Liam's waistband. He catches Liam's hip even as Liam stumbles into the hallway, Louis tripping after him, arm wrapped around his waist. 

Slight problem: Harry has already got the door, and Andy and Dale are standing on Liam's front step, looking beyond Harry—wrapped in one of Liam's more threadbare towels—to where Liam's almost entirely naked apart from a pair of pants that Louis was just trying to pull down, and with a naked Louis plastered to his back. 

Louis hooks his elbows under Liam's shoulders, and hides his laughter in Liam's back. 

Liam catches his bottom lip in his teeth. He can barely keep from laughing too, and this isn't how he imagined Andy or his mates discovering he liked boys, or these boys in particular. If he had let himself imagine this moment, he wouldn't have been nursing a semi—again—or sporting dried come on his stomach. 

"Christ," Andy says. 

"Hi," Liam says. 

"I just—" Andy swallows, and it isn't all that often that Liam's seen Andy completely lost for words. "I wanted to see if you wanted to do something for your birthday, but you weren't answering your phone."

"He's already doing something for his birthday," Louis says, shifting so that he could wrap his arms around Liam's waist from behind. "Well, doing _someone_ for his birthday. Two someones, really."

Liam's going red, he knows he is, but it doesn't make him want to hide Louis or Harry away. Just for this birthday, he's having it all, and fuck the consequences.

"Lou," Harry says, in a warning voice. 

Andy's face changes. "Fuck, _fuck_. I know where I know you two from. You're off of the X Factor. Jesus, Liam."

"God," Dale says. "How the fuck did you manage to get them to fuck you?" He looks from Liam to Harry. "Is this a pity fuck? It must be, right?"

"Get the fuck out," Harry says, and he's as fierce as Liam's ever heard him be. Louis' already let go of Liam and is marching up the hall, and he clearly doesn't give a fuck that he's stark bollock naked. 

"Don't you ever talk about Liam like that—" Louis sounds furious.

It's Andy who punches Dale in the face though, which Liam hadn't seen coming. 

"What the fuck, Andy?" Dale's clutching his face. 

Andy's bright red. "Don't talk about Liam that way," he says. 

Liam wants to cry. He's about two seconds from doing just that, but then Harry comes over to grab Liam's hand, squeezing it hard, and then he kisses his cheek, looking mutinous. 

"Don't you dare listen to him," he says fiercely. "You're fucking brilliant."

Liam doesn't have a single word available in his vocabulary right now, especially as Andy's just staring at him. 

Dale stumbles away, back to his car, clutching his face and swearing over his shoulder. 

Louis' still naked in Liam's doorway. "Put a towel on or something, Louis," Liam begs. He has neighbours. 

Louis' fists are clenched. He waits a beat before nodding, and going into the bathroom, coming out with Liam's towel round his waist. 

"Liam—" Andy says.

"I'm a bit busy," Liam says. 

"I—I know. I can see. Is this—are they—" he trails off. 

"He's not a pity fuck," Louis says, leaning up against the wall. "Liam's brilliant."

"I know," Andy says. He glances at Harry's hand in Liam's, then up at Liam. "I know that."

"You don't show it," Louis tells him. 

"I didn't mean to forget his birthday. I didn't, Li. I swear."

"I know," Liam looks down at his bare feet. 

"I'm not talking about his birthday," Louis goes on. "I'm talking about everything. You left him at the karaoke bar. He didn't have his room key. We took him home because he had nowhere else to go. Well, that and the fact we already knew how great he was, unlike some people."

"Louis, shut up." Liam hates this. He can't be reminded of how forgettable he is. He just—he can't. 

"I should be punching you right now," Louis says. "Liam should be punching you, but Liam won't ever do that, because he's the best fucking person and he actually thinks really highly of you, even though I bet you've done fuck all to deserve it. He doesn't know he's brilliant because you make him hang out with people like that fucking dickhead you've just lamped, and that's your fault. And now you're ruining his birthday, so try just fucking off, will you?"

"Andy—" Liam steps forward. 

Andy swallows. "No, Liam. He's right. He's right, and I should probably just go."

"Don't," Liam says. "Please don't go." If Andy goes, then when Louis and Harry leave him, he's going to have nobody. He doesn't think if he can do it if he doesn't have anyone. He doesn't know where he'll get the strength to get out of bed in the morning if he's all alone. 

"You need to make it the fuck up to him," Harry says to Andy, not letting go of Liam's hand. "How are you going to do that?"

Liam shakes his head. "He doesn't have to, it's fine. Andy, it's fine, we've always been fine."

Andy looks stunned. "God."

"Seriously, Andy, please." Liam's desperate. "Please don't say you won't be my friend. Please." He's not above begging. He tries not to notice Harry looking like he might cry, and Louis looking like he might still punch Andy in the face.

"You're my best mate," Andy says, after a minute. "You've always been my best mate."

"Fucking act like it, then," Louis snaps. 

"I know, I know." He swallows. "Li, I'm sorry."

This is it, then. This is it. There's a lump in Liam's throat he can't speak over.

"Tell him how you're going to make it up to him, then," Louis says, which, _what_. 

"We can do something for your birthday. Something nice. Something good. I'll pay."

"You don't have to," Liam starts. 

"He does." Louis folds his arms. The towel starts to slip. "And make sure it's something Liam actually wants to do, and not just something you want to do that you drag him to anyway, all right?"

"Right," Andy says, nodding. "Okay, I'll think of something. I'll think of something great." He tries to smile. "It'll even impress your boyfriends here."

Liam startles at that. _Boyfriends_. 

"You'd have to buy him the fucking moon to impress us," Louis tells him, arms still folded. "As boyfriends go, we're difficult to impress, right, Harry?"

"Right," Harry agrees. His hand is sweaty in Liam's. "We're virtually impossible to impress. Mostly because we think Liam's brilliant, so."

"I always like a challenge." Andy tries to laugh. Liam can't even crack a smile. "Look, all right, I'm going to go away and think up something great, and I'll call you, all right, Liam? Show you a proper good time for your birthday, belated."

Liam nods. He can't get past _boyfriends_. He barely notices Andy leaving, or Harry and Louis losing the towels and enveloping him in a hug even as the door closes after Andy. 

"Boyfriends?" His eyes prick with tears. His stomach hurts. God, Andy. What if he never comes back?

"If you'll have us," Louis says, from where his nose is pressed up against Liam's throat. 

"We were going to be a lot more romantic in asking you," Harry adds, "but then your friends were dickheads and ruined our plans."

"There were plans?" 

"Yep," Louis says. "So, um. What do you say? You want to be with us?"

"Be our boyfriend," Harry says, pressing his mouth to Liam's jaw. "Please."

The last couple of days of Liam's life have veered from awful to brilliant to awful again. He's still never made anyone else come, and his stomach hurts from the argument with Andy and Dale. He's terrified and more than a bit broken inside, and he knows it. He genuinely has no idea how he's going to cope when he wakes up one morning and this is all over, and he's alone again. He has no idea how he could ever explain him and Louis and Harry to his mum and dad, and he certainly couldn't explain it to Mick and the lads at the garage. Wolverhampton isn't just down the road from London, and he can't compete with Harry and Louis' lifestyles. 

But there's a Clifford the Big Red Dog balloon tied to his kitchen table, and the three of them fit together in Liam's bed like he'd never have thought possible. 

And he likes them. He likes them _so much_. 

Sometimes, you have to take the risk, and offer people your heart. 

"Okay," he says softly, and something in his chest unlocks and loosens as they take his hand and lead him back into the bedroom, and back to bed. 

 

**Epilogue**

"So, how do you fancy coming down to London this weekend, and singing with us and the boys? Zayn's booked us a studio, and I reckon we could sound all right, the five of us. What do you think? Worth a shot?"

Liam's waiting for the train with his suitcase by his side. "I'm already on my way," he says, his phone cradled between his cheek and his shoulder. "Was going to surprise you."

Harry laughs. "Fantastic. When are you due in? Me and Louis will meet you at the station when you get in. Bring you home."

"I'll text you the train times," Liam says, and when he hangs up, there's a new text message from Louis. _Bloody brilliant xxxx_

Liam texts back, _love you both tooooooo_ and goes to catch his train.

 

**[End]**

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from [Passenger's Things That Stop You Dreaming](http://youtu.be/1ItrO33Hg48), which - if you haven't heard it - is a beautiful song.


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